


Life is What You Make of It

by Elder_Higgins



Series: Modern Newsies [1]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxious Racetrack Higgins, Art Student Jack Kelly, Cancer, Character Death, College, Coming of Age, David Jacobs/Jack Kelly-centric, F/F, F/M, Foster Care, High School, I Made Myself Cry, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Italian Racetrack Higgins, Jack Kelly Backstory, Kinda, Let Crutchie Say Fuck, M/M, Middle School, Minor Jack Kelly/Katherine Plumber Pulitzer, Minor Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins, Mom Friend David Jacobs, Pining David Jacobs, Prequel, Sad, Spot Conlon is Bad at Feelings, i am sorry it's so sad, very sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2020-05-14 15:16:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 45,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19275934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elder_Higgins/pseuds/Elder_Higgins
Summary: Jack Kelly had lost a lot of things over the years. Keys, motivation, wallets, shirts, but what he could have never imagined losing was his best friend. His little brother Charlie. Everything had been going great. He had the best foster brother anyone could ask for, a good group of friends, and the cutest boyfriend in existence. When he lost Charlie, he lost himself. Thankfully, he had a family to help him find himself.PREQUEL BOOK TO “PAPER OR PLASTIC?” CAN BE READ AS STAND ALONE





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Prequel to my Sprace story "Paper or Plastic?"  
> While this can be read as a stand alone, this fic take place in the same universe as the Sprace story. So there will be refrences to events that happened in the last fic. Just saying, go read it. It's good, I promise, I worked hard. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this! It wasn't even supposed to be a book but I have all the characters and backstories fleshed out in my mind, so why not?  
> Thank you for reading and enjoy :)

Jack Kelly was a force to be reckoned with. Charlie knew first hand just how wild he could be. 

They met one another in a group therapy session for children with troubled parents; in Charlie’s case it was for children with no parents at all. At least Jack had some resemblance of family. His mother was distant, to say the least, but he still had her when she wasn’t high out of her mind. His dad was in jail. Needless to say, Jack didn’t let that weigh him down. 

Jack was spunky where Charlie was shy. Where Jack was a leader, Charlie was a follower. Charlie had never been much of a talker, not nearly as much as Jack, who would crack offensive jokes about his home life at the worst times. He would be pulled aside at the end and lectured about language and feelings, usually it was Charlie doing the lecturing. 

Jack was everything Charlie wasn’t, just as Charlie was everything Jack wasn’t. They were opposite personalities. Still, they got on like a house on fire. 

They were twelve; too young, too innocent, despite all they went through, to judge one another. Their friendship blossomed over a shitty home life, cheese fries, and the newest Mario game whenever they were able to scrounge it up. 

Life was good, as good as life could be for a couple of unwanted kids. 

Sixth grade together was fun. The foster system was working hard to integrate kids into school, something Charlie would later come to appreciate. He had moved around a lot to different towns and been the new kid too many times. Having a friend, someone who understood his situation, made it all easier. 

They were best friends. Every Tuesday and Thursday they would have group therapy, but soon those meetings turned into going to the arcade everyday after school, sleepovers on the weekends, and riding their bikes to the park over the summer. 

It was weird for Charlie. Everything felt too good to be true. He was convinced that his friendship with Jack Kelly wouldn’t last. Something bad would happen; they would get into a fight or he would have to move again. 

“Is we goin’ to be friends forever?” Charlie asked one day as they walked home from the park. 

They were taking their time. Jack wasn’t exactly eager to go home. Charlie had been lucky with his foster homes. He had been with his current family for about six months. Jack got moved around a lot either because he was disrespectful or being the classic “troubled child”, he would be abused, or he would simply run away. 

He felt bad for Jack. From what Charlie could see, Jack was just a kid who wanted a friend, a family. 

Jack took some time to ponder Charlie’s question. For them, there was no easy answer. There was no sure way to determine if they would be friends forever. Forever was a long time. However, Jack had been friends with Charlie for about five months, which was the longest he’d ever had a friend before. 

“Yeah, I’s think that we’ll be friends for a long time,” Jack said, looking over at Charlie with a cocky grin. Charlie couldn’t help but smile back. That was good. A long time was good, but it still wasn’t forever. 

He stared down at his shoes. They were falling apart again, there was hole right above his big toe. Charlie could see his neon green sock. “Are we gonna be friends my whole entire life?” He asked. 

“Of course we is. What’s gotten into you Char?” Jack stopped walking, tugging on Charlies t-shirt, but pulled away to let some asshole jogger pass them. The path they took was sparse, but there was still enough foot traffic to be annoying. 

Charlie stopped walking, made his way to the side of the path to avoid any collisions. This was it. Their friendship was going to end before it even had the chance to start. 

“Well, you has gotta promise that you won’t be mad at me,” Charlie said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. 

“Hey, hey. Do you’s really think that I could ever be mad at you?” 

“Well, you were that time I stole a quarter from you to get a gumball.” 

Jack scoffed, offended that Charlie even have the nerve to bring that day up. “You’s knew it was my emergency quarter and you’s stoled it anyway.” 

“Hey!” Charlie exclaimed, looking up to make sure Jack wasn’t actually made. The shit-eating grin staring back at him told him he was in the clear. “We both know that I only had a nickel.” 

They laughed, resumed walking, and almost forgot about what Charlie had been talking about earlier. “Why would I’s be mad?” Jack asked after a few minutes of silence. 

Charlie wished that Jack’s memory was as bad as he pretended it was (it got them out of going to jail on more than one occasion), but it wasn’t, and he had to tell him. He was going to have to eventually. 

Take a deep breath, like ripping off a Band-Aid, he told himself. “I’m being moved to another foster home. Don’t know where but I’m meetin’ the lady tomorrow. They’s said it was in town, so that’s good.” 

This was a big fucking Band-Aid. 

Jack let out a small laugh; incredulous like he couldn’t believe his ears. He wasn’t mad. There was no stiff shouldered, silently kicking at the ground Jack Kelly that Charlie would usually see after he’d been scolded. 

“No way,” he said. Jack stopped walking once more, laughing softly to himself. “No fucking way.” 

Charlie flinched. Jack didn’t swear often, only when he was really upset. “I’m sorry, Jack. Really. You’s know better than me that I ain’t have a say in where they send me!” He was scrambling now, trying to preserve whatever he could of their friendship. 

“Woah, Char. I ain’t mad at you’s.” Jack grinned at him, all warmth and friendship. No speck of hatred to be found, for Charlie there never was. 

“You ain’t?” 

Jack puffed out his chest all proud like, walking up to Charlie and clapping him on the shoulder. “It just so happens I’m being moved to a new foster home and is going to a meeting with the lady tomorrow too.” 

They stared at each other, grins slowly spreading before Charlie leaped away. He did a goofy little happy dance. There was no other way to express the pure hopefulness that had possessed his body. 

“We could be brothers!” He screeched. A lady walking her dog shot him a confused look as she walked past. Some people would just never understand. 

Jack slung an arm over his shoulder. “We already are brothers.” 

The next day Charlie and Jack got up extra early the next day and, in Charlie’s opinion, knocked the socks off of their new foster mom, Miss Medda. 

In less than a week everything they had was shoved into some garbage bags and they were in a cab, headed to their new home. 

It was all so exciting. Jack and he would live together. Live. Together. That kind of stuff only happened in movies. Miss Medda was super nice too. Charlie could tell she cared a lot about the kids, offering to keep Jack and Charlie together even though she was only looking for one other kid to foster. 

The house was the best part. The two of them stood side by side, craning their necks to see the whole two stories. It was in a nice neighborhood, with a nice school (that Charlie and Jack would be attending together). There was a porch, with a swing; hedges, with flowers and trees too; a backyard, with a pool and a swing set. They had really hit the motherload. 

“Last one to the door is a rotten egg!” Jack yelled and took off running. 

They scrambled up the steps. Laughing and pushing and shoving to be first to see their new house. 

“I’s hope I got my own room!” Jack practically yelled as he tripped up a step. 

“Well I’s sure as heck ain’t sharing one with you!” Charlie was faster than Jack, easily taking the steps two at a time and beating him to the top. 

Medda grabbed them by the backs of their collars before they could even reach for the door handle. 

“Now boys, I’m expecting y’all to be on your best behavior,” Medda said in her thick southern drawl. Part of Charlie felt like she was exaggerating her accent. The social work had mention her love of theatrics. He didn’t think it was bad, made her more exciting. “You two will have to share a room. I have another boy living with me and he already has his own room. It wouldn’t be too fair to make him share after he just got comfortable now would it?” 

The two shuffled their feet and looked down at the ground, properly chastised. “No ma’am,” they answered obediently. 

“Okay, we’re going to enter like respectful people and you’re going to meet my other foster son, Sean Conlon.” Medda let go of them an opened the door to reveal a very short kid with freckles everywhere. 

Sean Conlon didn’t go to meetings, didn’t say much, didn’t do anything at all really. He went to school, came home, and went straight to his room with the door locked. Charlie, try hard as he might, couldn’t get so much as a “hello” from the kid. 

Medda swore he would warm up to them, told some vague story about how his other siblings had been less kind to him. “When it was just me an’ him,” she said. “He would talk for hours on end. There was no shutting that boy up!” 

Not even Jack, who could somehow make a mute have a conversation with him, could get more than a grunt out of him. So they stopped trying so hard. Easier not to force friendship, in Charlie’s expert opinion. Everything with Jack developed naturally and look where they were. On the road to becoming brothers. 

It was weird, living with Jack, that is. Charlie had lived with other kids before. They usually acted like Spot, ignoring him and only talking to him when necessary. Sure, it stung, but it was better than facing their wrath like Jack had had to deal with. 

No, what was odd about living with Jack was actually Jack was seeing him all the time. Anywhere he turned in the house his best friend was there. It was, quite honestly, the greatest feeling Charlie had ever experienced. 

He had his brother with him, with a real chance at becoming real life siblings. After twelve years, things were looking up. He had Jack Kelly by his side, literally. They shared a room. 

Charlie’s bed was pressed against the opposite wall of Jack’s side of the room. Though, they shared everything. After just a week they pushed their dressers to be side by side and shared. The closet became a fort, where they ended up falling asleep most nights. Sometimes, Spot would join them for sleepovers in the fort. 

Those nights were extra special, because Charlie could see that Spot needed a Jack Kelly in his life too. And he was willing to share so someone else could feel the happiness having a brother could bring to a person. 

The room itself was sky blue except for one wall, left white for Jack to paint. That alone shocked Charlie. Never in his life had he had a foster parent that would let a kid paint on their walls. 

Medda wasn’t an ordinary lady. 

She was loud, fun, eccentric, and she did not give a rats ass about what anyone thought about her. She wore big hats with feathers, bright, colorful dresses, and lots of vibrant lipsticks. Medda was so unashamedly Medda that Charlie was awestruck. 

He would sit on her bed as she did her makeup, listening to her tell stories of her childhood and time on Broadway. Miss Medda, it turns out, had always been as spunky as Jack. 

Which kind of hurt. Those mornings he would listen to her stories and hear about her wild adventure only made Charlie realize how much she had wanted Jack as a foster kid. Charlie had only been accepted out of pity. 

He came upon this realization one morning as Jack was heading downstairs to eat breakfast. He heard Medda scolding him for using the banister instead of the stairs, but was laughing as she did, immediately launching into some story about how spirited she was as a kid. 

Before he knew it, Charlie was sitting on his bed in tears. He had always suspected that no one would want him. He was quiet, obedient, but that could only go so far when looking for a kid. People liked Jack, they liked the fight and the laughter he brought. The only catch was that Jack was one of the only people who liked Charlie. So, if you got Jack, then you had no choice but to take Charlie too. 

“Hey, you’s good?” 

The voice startled Charlie and he jumped, almost to the point where he fell off the bed. Maybe he got so scared because he hadn’t heard it before. Sean Conlon, leaning against the doorframe to Charlie’s room. 

It was the first thing he had said to him in the three weeks of Jack and Charlie being there. Even when they had sleepovers he didn’t talk, just listened and laughed. 

“Do I look like I is havin’ the time of my life to you?” Charlie sniffled and wiped at the snot dripping down his face. 

Spot shrugged and came to sit across from him on Jack’s bed. “You tell me.” 

“Does Miss Medda like me?” Charlie asked. He got a blank stare from Spot in response. “What?” 

“You’s really stupid, you’s know that?” Spot laughed, taking the time to lay out across Jack’s bed and settle in. This could take a while. 

Charlie was hurt, letting out a small gasp of indignation. People never said it to his face. Well, not in those words. “You’s gonna regret sayin’ that-” 

“Calm down,” Spot said. “I’s only said it ‘cause Medda loves you. She doesn’t just take in any ole kid.” 

“She barely even knows me.” 

“Yeah and she love you’s and Cowboy already. That’s gotta count for somethin’.” 

Charlie laughed, averting the conversation from his own insecurities to ask about Jack’s nickname. 

Spot smiled up at the ceiling. He seemed to smile a lot more this last week. “Have you’s not seen this room? He’s got books about cowboy’s, he’s got boots about cowboy’s, he’s been talking about painting Santa Fe on the wall since he got here. Jack Kelly is a wannabe cowboy,” He said. 

Medda called them down for breakfast again, sounding less patient this time. 

“Thanks for talkin’ to me,” Charlie said. “Does this mean we’re cool now?” 

“Nah, I just felt bad for you,” Sean said and got up and left. 

It seemed a lot of people did things for him out of pity. 

Sean lied, though. Not about Medda but about them being cool. He talked more. A lot more. At dinner it was hard to get him to shut up. He would go on and on about his birth mom, bragging about how she was recovering and would adopt him soon. 

“She’s sober now,” he said through a mouthful of spaghetti. He loved Italian food. “I got to go see her last week and I’m going to get to go live with her again.” 

The more he rambled, the less Jack ate. Charlie could tell Sean had, unknowingly, struck a nerve. Medda could tell too because she would say, “That’s great, honey. Now eat your food.” and they would finish the rest of the meal in silence. 

Sean, as it would turn out, was telling the truth. A month later, he was gone. His birth mom took him back. Some people were lucky like that. 

Charlie had no one, well, no one but Jack. 

He liked it better that way. 


	2. Jack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I am going to try and explain this set up as best as I can. (If you're still confused drop me a comment and I'd be happy to reword). Every other chapter is going to be told from Crutchie's perspective and explain his life up until his death, the other chapters will be either Jack or Davey, explaining their relationship and how losing Cruthcie impacted them. The chapter's are kinda like two separate storyline's being intertwined by a common object in each pair of chapters. The story of Jack and Davey's relationship starts two months after Charlie's death and goes until the start "Paper or Plastic," covering about 5 years.
> 
> Hopefully that made some sense. Also fair warning, the first few Jack/Davey chapters are going to be hella sad with a lot of mentions of death and depression and dealing with loss. The last few chapters of Charlie's will be sad bc it will be Charlie's own perspective with death and everything. I just want that to be said so you as readers can be safe. 
> 
> Anyways, i don't know why this particular chapter was so hard to write, but i just feel like it wasn't good. hope you all enjoy this chapter though :)

Life wasn’t fair. It had never been fair. He had been hit as a kid, starved, and mistreated in more ways than he could imagine, but he would gladly have relived all of that for the chance to see Crutchie one more time. 

The pictures on the wall weren’t enough. They didn’t capture his goofy laugh that went with the wide, innocent grin. They didn’t capture the way his legs would bounce when he got really excited. They only captured a moment. 

Jack wanted his brother for a lifetime. He did have him for a lifetime, just not his own. 

It was nearing two months without his childish giggles and incessant pestering to stop for McDonald’s whenever they passed one. Jack had gone back to work, so had Davey. Their relationship was struggling. When people say loss brings people closer together, they’re lying. 

“Jackie, honey, you have to go back to work,” Davey had pleaded. “We both can’t live off of my crappy barista job. We’re falling behind on rent and we’ve got all the hospital bills. 

“I love you so much and I know how hard this is. I hate even having to ask you, but you have to go back to work, hun. I need you and Charlie would want you to take care of yourself. Please.” 

But Charlie wasn’t there. Everyone was living their lives as if he had never even existed. 

“What’s the point?” Jack had mumbled, so quietly he thought he had lost his voice. 

He didn’t want to be difficult. Davey was right in everything he was saying, he was always right, but it was hard. It was so fucking hard. This was his best friend, his brother, his pride and joy that they had lost. Two months was not enough time to move on. 

Jack didn’t think he could ever move on. 

Davey had laid down on the bed next to him, running his fingers through Jack’s unwashed hair, and pressing a small kiss to his cheek as tears rushed down his face. “The point is that I can’t watch you waste away too.” 

His voice had sounded a lot like Jack’s, quiet and hoarse, but his held the heartbreak that Jack couldn’t feel anymore. Jack couldn’t feel anything. He was so uncomfortably numb. 

But whenever Davey came around, or Race for that matter, something shifted. Jack felt as if he had a responsibility to them, to smile and joke around as he used to. His shrink told him that he shouldn’t feel guilty for not having the energy to smile or laugh anymore, but he did. Jack felt so ashamed for not being there for them because Crutchie may have been his brother, but he was their friend too. That made everything hurt worse. 

He hurt so bad that it compelled Jack to go back to work; at least some good came out of his pain. Except for the fact that painting murals was hard when there was no motivation to even get out of bed in the morning, no inspiration to seize the day. There was nothing and it was eating Jack up inside. 

His shrink told him it was depression. When he announced it, like he had just solved the world’s biggest mystery, Jack had laughed for the first time in weeks. It was spiteful and brittle, but it was a laugh. So he had that going for him. 

The word felt weird on him, like a shirt that didn’t fit right. Depression. Jack assumed that’s why he no longer felt the need to smile and laugh, but he had always assumed it was grief. Apparently, the two can coincide. 

Sure he was sad, sometimes he felt numb, like nothing mattered, but depressed was never the word he would equate with his sorrow. It was more like a flame, burning hot to the point where he couldn’t even feel anything. Frustration at not being able to do anything. Lost because his beacon of light was gone. Never depressed. That wasn’t his style. 

Jack thought about that a lot when he was starting a new painting, depression. 

Back when he had been an attentive art student, before Charlie died, actually attending classes and doing his assignments, he had done a research project on Picasso’s Blue Period. Jack thought it was silly at the time. Sad guy paints with sad colors? Where’s the genius in that? 

It made sense now. Whenever Jack stood in front of that blank high school wall, his paintbrush would always hover above the brick with blue paint covering its bristles. Even then, he felt no desire to do what he loved. Jack had a lot of respect for Picasso. 

The murals’ got done, though. In any other circumstance, Jack would fuel his own ego and talk about what a damn good job he had done. This wasn’t any other circumstance. Plus, his technique was instilled in him. It was second nature to paint well enough to pay the bills. 

At least losing Charlie didn’t impede on that aspect of his life. 

Sometimes the murals brought Jack an odd sense of peace. Finally, he had gain some control back in this downward spiral. He could control every little detail. Make sure nothing went wrong. As a nineteen-year-old, who was essentially on his own, this little sliver of control was his lifeline. 

According to his shrink, that was dangerous behavior to cling to. Like that guy would know anything about danger. Jack had done a lot of stupid shit in his years, dangerous shit, painting a mural to feel in control couldn’t even begin to compare. 

He kept painting. He stayed in control. 

Two months later, despite Davey’s desperate pleas – he seemed to be pleading with Jack more, lately – Jack stopped seeing a therapist. He was improving. He was in control. Or so he thought. 

As it would turn out, the slightest little thing could scale back his progress by days. Only, this wasn’t a small setback. It was Medda. 

He hadn’t meant to blow up at her. Jack had never raised his voice at her in his life, not even when she threatened to send him and Charlie back into the foster system. He had always respected Medda. 

Until now. 

“Jack.” Medda threw her hands up with an exasperated groan, but her voice never rose above that breathy, gentle tone she always seemed to speak in. “I don’t see why it’s a big deal. You live with Dave now.” 

It wasn’t just a big deal. It was a huge deal. Jack reasoned that Medda selling her house would be the biggest deal in his entire life, after losing Charlie. This was the first house that he had felt safe in. The first house that he had been absolutely encaptivated by. It was where he actually got to be a kid, where he wasn’t expected to grow up right away. Most importantly, it was where Charlie and he became brothers. 

Davey stood off to the side, nervously twisting his hands together, but knew better than to say something. When Jack was angry like this he spared no emotion in tearing everyone else around him down. That’s why he was going to the therapist in the first place; then he lost Crutchie and all Jack’s hard work went straight down the drain. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Jack screamed, veins bulging out in his neck, face red. The quiet street he grew up on had transformed into a place of chaos and hatred. It was all his fault. 

His head was spinning, thinking of ways he could make Medda regret her decision, but nothing was coming to him. All Jack could think about was how if this house was gone, then that meant Charlie’s memory was as good as gone too. 

“It’s been four fuckin’ months. Four. And- and you’se is ready to just up and move.” He was pacing now, up and down the sidewalk in front of those stairs he and Charlie had raced up. The house that made their jaws drop as the cab pulled up. “Miss Medda I’s thought- I’s thought that- that you’se was different. One of yer kids dies an’ you’se moving on already?” 

The hedges were dead, well, mostly dead. The flowers were still covered in frost from the harsh winter. The swing was broken, but still there. Everything was different without him. It was as though the house knew he was gone too. 

Medda shot a worried glance towards Davey, whose face was blanched. Someone had to calm Jack down and soon. How were they supposed to? He had a right to be upset but cursing his mother out wouldn’t do anything to bring anyone back. Not Spot, though he still kept in touch, and certainly not Charlie. 

She took a hesitant step towards her son. “Jack, hun, the house is too big for just me. When it all my boys were living with me it was a different story, but now I’m all alone in this big house.” 

He stopped moving, turned to stare at her, and broke down in tears. Medda took break in anger to reach out and pull Jack close. He didn’t object, merely wrapped his arms around her like when he was still a kid. “We’s can’t just get rid of it. That’s my house,” he mumbled into her shoulder. 

“I know, baby. I know.” She did her best to soothe him, but Jack was eager to cling to the pain. 

No one knew that better than Davey. He had woken up many nights to find Jack just standing in the bathroom, crying his eyes out. He was the one who had dragged Jack home from the cemetery, insisting that they would be able to visit whenever, but he couldn’t sleep there. Davey had been there for Jack long enough to know that he was too selfish to let go of the pains sadness. 

“The house is payed off?” Davey asked in a small voice, scared to interrupt the mother-son moment. Still, the inflection in his tone made it clear that he had an idea. 

Medda pulled away from Jack to squint at Davey. When Jack had first brought the boy home she immediately loved him. He was nice, respectful, but very passionate and outspoken when he needed to be. The perfect match for her son. Still, here he was questioning her finances. 

“Son, what are you going on about?” She asked, hands on her hips. 

Davey squared his shoulders, matching her challenging stance. He was smart enough to have figured out she was well-off by the way Jack talked about her glory days acting and directing. Hell, she owned her own business now. 

“Well, if it was payed off, then Jack and I could buy it from you.” The look on Medda’s face had the confidence slowly draining from Davey’s posture. Jack chewed his lip, mulling over the idea. 

If he was being honest, it made sense. They didn’t have much money. Davey was making around $1,000 a month as a barista and Jack could make up to $8,000 dollars on one mural. In New York that didn’t go far. Not having to worry about missing rent and being evicted would take a huge weight off their shoulders. 

“Look, I know there’s no way we could pay it all right now. We have, maybe, $8,000 left to Jack in Charlie’s will that we could use as a down payment to you,” Davey said. “I’m guessing the house is around $300,000, which would be way out of our price range, but if it’s payed off we wouldn’t have to pay interest since it’ll stay in your name. 

“Plus we could sell our second car since I don’t have a license anyway. We could probably get like $4,000 for that old thing. That would put us at, what, around $12,000 to give you right away.” He finished in a rush, taking a deep, nervous breath. 

Jack knew there was no way they could afford this house, even though Davey got huge scholarships, school was still expensive for them. Well, Jack was going to community college to at least obtain a degree. He wasn’t really looking to pay hundreds or thousands of dollars to prove he could paint. Commissions paid well enough and he certainly made a good living, which was rare for artists, but murals were in steady demand from the many high schools and hospitals in the New York suburbs. 

Still, he was shaking at the possibility of keeping the house in the family. What if, he thrived off of life’s “what if’s.” 

Medda waved her hand and, for a moment, Jack was scared she would insist that they sell the house. “You boys put too much thought into this. It’ll stay in my name and you only have to pay me, oh, say about $160,000. I’m not going to force my own kids to buy this house off me.” 

For the first time in the past four months, Jack’s face split into a grin. It was big and genuine, with teeth and everything. 

Just like that, the house was his. Dying plants, broken swing, peeling paint. It was his. 

Davey glanced over at Jack with a smile. “I hope you don’t mind moving out of my apartment. It’s just this so much more spacious than my studio and, quite frankly, nicer too. I know it’s all the way across town from school. It’s more suburban and since you only drive it’ll put more of a burden on you-” 

“Dave,” Jack attempted to cut him off, but Davey kept rambling. If he didn’t stop soon he’d completely talk himself out of the plan. So, he leaned over and kissed him softly. “It’s perfect, thank you.” 

He smiled at the house but couldn’t ignore that feeling that nagged at him. Here he was, moving back into his home, happy as could be and where was Charlie? Six feet under. The smile was slowly leaving his face. 

Davey slid his hand into Jack’s, tugging him close, and wrapping him into a hug. “This is going to be good for us. Maybe it’ll give you some closure.” 

What a funny word that was, closure. 

Jack didn’t want closure. He wanted Charlie back. 


	3. An Italian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shooting for updates every 7-10 days. Enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think !! :)

Charlie had his own room, well it was Spot’s old room, but it was still his own space. He felt bad at first, like he was invading someone’s privacy. The room was mostly barren, save for the furniture and a few posters, so there was no reason for Charlie to feel as he did. 

He figured it was because he had never not shared a room with someone. Having one whole room to himself was such a foreign concept. Even in all the other foster homes he had been crowded in with the families kids or was put with other foster kids. 

Medda truly was spoiling him. 

Still, it was weird not having Jack across the room from him and not having Spot sit in on their late nights in the fort. The whole dynamic of the house had changed, much to Charlie’s displeasure. Medda moped around the house, occasionally calling one of them Spot before growing quiet and realizing her mistake. Jack acted like he owned the joint. It all felt wrong. 

Charlie felt more alone than he had in a long time. He took walks. Walks had helped before, back when Jack still hadn’t entered his life and his foster homes were mediocre at best. Charlie a lot of walks to clear his head. 

They worked occasionally, but most days ended with him overthinking and feeling worse than when the walk had started. He really only felt better every Tuesday and Thursday at group therapy. 

The concept of therapy was odd. Whenever he would mention it at school, kids would look at him weird and ask why he needed therapy. Charlie didn’t really know how to answer them. From what he had seen on TV, therapy was for sad people and he wasn’t sad. Lonely, yes, but everyone was a little lonely. He was happy and bubbly all the time, going the extra mile to make people smile. 

Those kind of kids didn’t need therapy, did they? 

Regardless, Charlie went. He figured that, even if he didn’t need therapy, maybe he could help one of the new kids. Though, there weren’t many new kids coming in anymore. Typically, the start of the school year and holidays was when more kids appeared, not in the middle of the school year when nothing interesting was happening. Charlie was scrambling for a reason to keep going. 

“Hey, Jack?” He called out from his room one random Thursday afternoon. “Jack!” 

He got a muffled yell that couldn’t be made out in response, the usual. Everything sounded muffled nowadays. In the end, Charlie was the one making the effort. He got out of bed and shuffled to knock on Jack’s door. It was closed most days. 

“Come in!” Jack’s voice was still muffled, but louder now. Charlie swung the door open, leaning against the doorframe with a frown. At this rate they were going to be late because Jack was on his knees, painting an extremely detailed forest on one of his walls. He spoke without looking away from his work. “Hey, what’s up?” 

“Group starts in a hour,” Charlie said, crossing his arms and stalking over to go flop on the bed. 

There was no response from Jack. He was too busy cursing out a tree for looking too naked, even with its leaves. 

“Jack did you hear me? If you don’t get ready, we’s gonna be late.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Charlie pressed his lips in a thin line and stopped arguing, opting instead to watch him work. There was no reasoning with Jack while he was painting. It was like talking to a wall, though he didn’t look as foolish as Jack literally talking to the wall. 

He was taking a long time. Charlie knew how particular Jack could be about his art, but today was testing his patience. They had already skipped Tuesday’s meetings and Charlie just wanted to be back in that poor excuse of a classroom to talk about how life was treating him today. “Ya know, Bob Ross could paint that tree in, like, fifteen seconds.” 

Jack groaned, dropping the paint brush, and turned to glare at Charlie. “I ain’t no Bob Ross, am I?” 

“All I’m sayin’ is you’s could just follow one of his episodes, but on yer wall.” Charlie shrugged. He had a smile on his face despite Jack’s moodiness. How could he not smile at the thought of Bob Ross? 

“Yeah, picture me draggin’ the television set upstairs to watch our tape of a Bob Ross rerun’s,” Jack grumble but couldn’t hide the smile on his face once Charlie started cracking up. “Hey! Don’t you’s laugh at me.” But Jack was laughing too, and, for a few moments, it was like when they first came here. They were a team again. 

Charlie stretched, sitting up to face Jack. “Look, can’t you’s just stop so we can go to group? Hey, what’s that face for? I thought you’s liked group. Lydia is gonna be there. I know you like like her.” He cooed, squealing and diving off the bed to avoid the wet towel Jack had launched at him. 

“Can’t we just skip again?” Jack asked. He focused himself on cleaning his brushes in his dirty water cup, carefully avoiding Charlie’s gaze. “We’s just seem too old to be goin’ there.” 

“Seriously, Jack? The oldest kid there is seventeen. We’s five years younger than her. C’mon, please. I really wanna go tonight.” Charlie was groveling, not his favorite way to get what he wanted, but effective because Jack huffed and threw his brushed down with a frustrated “fine!” 

The entire car ride Jack pouted in the backseat. Charlie didn’t mind too much, they were still on their way to group and that was what really mattered. He was beginning to feel better with every second they got closer to the facility. Maybe he didn’t really need therapy, but it sure did help. 

“I’ll pick you boys up at eight, okay?” Miss Medda called out the window, waving as they made their way into the building. 

“Bitch,” Jack grumbled under his breath, only to be hit by Charlie. 

“Be nice, asshole.” He turned to wave at the car. “Bye!” 

It didn’t make sense to him, why Jack hated group therapy so much. After all, that was the very reason they had become friends. He glanced over at Jack as they walked down the halls to room A113. The scowl on his face had become almost permanent these past few weeks, which was odd considering that they were a family now. He should be bouncing off the walls. 

“Do you’s not wanna be my friend anymore?” Charlie asked, nudging his friend in the shoulder. He bit his lip, avoiding eye contact, and watching the room signs pass by. A104, A105, A106. There was no way he could face the group if Jack hated him, no way he would be able to face anyone. Jack was all he had left. 

“Shut up, Charlie.” 

So he did. 

Charlie shoved past him into room A113 and took a seat by a new kid, doing all he could to look angry and not like he was going to burst into tears. “Be more like Sean,” he whispered to himself, forcing his face into a stony mask. He missed Spot’s awkward tension. It was comforting in some odd way. 

The entire group consisted of mainly new faces. Kids came and went, that’s just how life was. Jack was the only true friend he made from these meetings; it probably had to do with the fact that he was part of the few that consistently showed their face. 

The new kid he was sitting next to leaned over. “Were you forced to come too?” He asked, pale blue eyes wide with curiosity. There was a thick accent in his voice, distinctly foreign but Charlie couldn’t place it. He’d never left New York, let alone the country. 

“Nah, I like comin’ here,” Charlie said, studying the boy. He looked more put together than most of the kids who came here. Well-fed, even though he was skinny as a rail; well-clothed, there wasn’t a single hole in his shirt; all together well off, he didn’t have a single bruise, burn mark, or scar visible to any passerby. 

“If you like coming here so much how come I didn’t see you on Tuesday?” 

Charlie shrugged, he didn’t know why he didn’t come Tuesday in all honesty. He didn’t know a lot of things anymore. “I’m Charlie Morris.” 

The kid stuck his hand out to shake. Classy. “Antonio Higgins.” 

“You’re Italian!” 

“Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.” Antonio flashed him a smile and just like that, they were cool. 

As everyone dwindled into the group, the two exchanged some small talk. Antonio was eleven, making him one year younger that Charlie and Jack. He was born in Italy but moved here to go to school. 

“Wait, what?” 

“Yeah,” Antonio laughed. “I’m the youngest of six, but my Ma is pregnant with twins, so I guess I won’t be the youngest for long.” 

Charlie let out a low whistle, one that caught Jack’s attention because his gaze snapped away from Lydia rather quickly. When he saw Charlie staring, he sneered and went back to moping. 

“Isn’t it weird not having any of them here with you?” Charlie asked. 

Antonio merely shrugged. “Not really. I mean, I miss them, but this is an adventure.” 

“I don’t think I’d be able to do that.” 

“You got any siblings?” He asked. 

Charlie shook his head. “No, but I got a best friend and that’s close enough.” 

“Ok! Ok! Everyone quiet please.” Elizabeth, the group leader, sat down at the front of the circle. “We’re going to start like usual with a few ice breakers.” 

There was a collective groan. 

“Now, now.” She was in the habit of repeating everything twice. It was quite annoying. “Let’s start by going around the circle and stating our names, our favorite animal, and why we’re here. Now remember that everyone’s situation is different, so let’s be sensitive about how we talk to each other. This is going to open up the floor for discussion once everyone goes. Any volunteers.” 

No one rose their hands. No one even let out a breath. Everyone was still as stone, avoiding eye contact and praying to God she didn’t choose them. 

“Charlie, why don’t you start us out.” 

He would rather rip his teeth out one by one, but Charlie was the good kid. He did as he was told. 

“Oh, uh, sure.” He said, forcing a smile. “I’m Charlie, my favorite animal is a dog, and I’m here because my parents left me at a fire station when I was two weeks old.” 

There was an awkward lapse of silence. Everyone stared at him, then turned their gaze to Elizabeth. Funny, how this was the place that brought him comfort. Antonio seemed to realize what going around the circle meant. 

“Ciao. My name is Antonio, my favorite animal is a panda bear, and I’m here because my dad sent me to live with his sister so I can get an American education,” he said. 

The eldest kid there, Isel, rose her hand. Elizabeth was quick to jump on the opportunity for a discussion. “Yes, Isel.” 

“If you’re not from America, how come they just let you in?” She smirked at the pure look of panic on Elizabeth’s face. The kids here were not educated on these matters. “You’re not a citizen. That makes you illegal and you’re going to get deported.” 

Elizabeth’s face blanched. “Isel! That was not a very respectful thing to say-” 

“No,” Antonio cut her off. “It’s fine. I’m a citizen because my dad is a citizen. He met my mom on a college trip to Italy and they fell in love. Since he’s American that makes me American. It’s called ‘acquisition’ or something, I don’t know.” 

The answer seemed to satisfy Isel, but Elizabeth dragged her out in the hall to lecture her nonetheless. Everyone was quiet, not really in the mood to be the next kid dragged out of the room for a scolding. 

“If you’s from Italy, how come ya speak English?” Jack asked, earning a glare from Charlie. 

Antonio smiled and chuckled softly. “Didn’t I just say my dad was American? He taught me.” 

“Say something in Italian!” One of the younger kids bounced in his seat, an excited grin on his face. 

“Ok! Let me think though.” Antonio exaggerated his pondering, drawing a laugh from all the young kids. “ _L'italia è un paese meraviglioso._ ” 

“What does that mean?” Charlie asked. 

“Italy is a wonderful country.” The kids ‘ooohed’ at that. 

Elizabeth came back in the room with a fuming Isel following close behind. “Ok!” She clapped her hands together and took her seat at the front of the room. “Let’s get back to it.” 

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur. Before he knew it, Charlie was climbing in the back seat of Medda’s Honda. Jack got shotgun home. He hadn’t said anything the entire group and Elizabeth knew better than to force kids into talking and it didn’t look like he was about to start talking now. 

“How was it, boys?” Jack let out a groan, which was quickly silenced by a glare from Medda. “Put on your seatbelt.” 

Charlie bounced about in the backseat, fumbling with the seatbelt. “There’s a new kid named Antonio! Real nice. He talked to me an’ now we’s friends.” 

“That’s wonderful! We should celebrate. Who wants ice cream?” Miss Medda said to the two. Her gaze swept over Jack before settling on Charlie in the rearview mirror. 

If it were any other day and he wasn’t fighting with Jack, the two would let out a loud ‘whoop’ and chant until they reached the ice cream parlor. Today, Jack just huffed and crossed his arms, which sucked because Charlie wanted ice cream. 

He stayed quiet. 

“Charlie, hun. What about you?” She asked, knowing his sweet spot for, well, anything sweet. 

What was the point of going and sitting as a family if Jack was just going to sulk? He shrugged, avoiding eye contact. “It’s fine,” he said. 

It wasn’t fine. The tension in the car was thick and the silence was heavy. As soon as they pulled into the narrow driveway, Jack was out of the car and slamming doors all the way to his room. 

“What’s the matter with him?” 

“Dunno,” Charlie said, slipping out of the car and leaving Medda alone to stare at the garage, wondering where she went wrong. He didn’t see her again until she came to tuck him in. 

Charlie felt he was far too old to be tucked in, but Medda seemed to enjoy it and he had missed the prime years to be kissed goodnight, so he let it slide. “Sweet dreams, baby.” 

If only sleep would come that easily. He spent an hour tossing and turning. There was no way to be comfortable knowing that his only friend was mad at him. 

“Char?” There was a whisper from the doorway. Speak of the devil. “Hey, Charlie?” 

Charlie rolled over to face the wall. He didn’t want to deal with this anymore. He was done being a welcome mat. “Go to bed, Jack. I don’t wanna talk to you’s.” 

For a beat, there was silence and Charlie allowed himself a moments revelry for scaring Jack off. His celebration didn’t last long. Jack had invited himself in and taken it upon himself to slip into bed next to Charlie. 

“Shove ova’ would ya? Geez.” He snatched a pillow and began, loudly, fluffing it up. Charlie groaned, but refused to give him any response further than that. “C’mon, Char. I’m real sorry. I’s didn’t mean to be rude to ya today, honest.” 

“Shut up, Jack.” 

Jack flopped down onto his freshly fluffed pillow. He laid in silence, gathering his thoughts, and reached over to grab Charlie’s hand. “We’re still brothers, right?” 

“Do brothers fight?” Charlie asked the wall, but Jack answered anyway. 

“I dunno, never had a brother before.” 

“Me neither.” 

They shared a small laugh and settled into a comfortable silence, but the aggression from Jack earlier still weighed heavy in the room. At this rate, Jack would end up falling asleep before explaining his actions. Charlie wouldn’t mind it. He missed having his best friend in an arm’s reach, it made him feel less lonely. 

“Is it weird?” Jack asked, treading into an area of their friendship they had never brought up before. They knew about each other’s home lives, well lives before this one, but chose to focus on other, more important, details, than ask about their parents. “Havin’ never known yer folks?” 

Charlie rolled over, nose to nose with Jack and shrugged. “No, not really. Sometimes I think they must’a really had it bad if they had to leave me behind.” 

Jack nodded slowly as if carefully calculating his response. Charlie figured it for the best, he was already being a dick. “It ain’t fair Spot got to go live with his Ma.” 

“You’s can’t be mad at him for that.” 

“I ain’t,” Jack admitted. “I’s mad at my Ma for not being like his Ma.” 

“Oh.” Charlie didn’t know how to respond to that one. How could he ever understand what Jack was going through when he didn’t even know what having a mother even felt like. No, that was a lie. He had Medda and she trying to be a mother. He just couldn’t tell if she was doing a good job. There was nothing to compare it to. 

“Sorry.” Jack reached out and squeezed Charlie’s shoulder. “I’s know I shouldn’t talk ‘bout havin’ folks in front of ya. It’s just got me so mad these past few days.” 

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. I’ve learned to live with it.” 

“If I knew yer folks I woulda told them not ta leave you’s.” 

Charlie rolled his eyes. “I’s doubt they would have listened to the babblin’ of a four-month-old.” 

There was a loud bark of laughter that was quickly muffled by a pillow. Charlie had seen enough TV to know for sure that Medda was doing a good job at parenting whenever she scolded them about bedtime, which happened a lot. “You’s a real smart-aleck. It ain’t fair.” 

“It’s not fair that you’s came in here like you’s own the joint an’ take over my bed.” Charlie laughed and moved so all the covers would rest on him. 

“Well, my Pa used ta always tell me that life’s not fair,” Jack said as he pulled the sheets away from Charlie. 

Charlie laughed and wrestled the covers back. “No, but it is what you’s make of it.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“I dunno, but it sounded good, didn’t it?” 

Jack laughed into his pillow. “Yeah, I guess it did.” 

Charlie glanced over at him, eyes droopy, heavy with sleep. Jack was staring at the ceiling with a smile on his face. He hadn’t seen him smile in a while. It was a night change of pace. “Night, Jack.” 

“Night,” Jack said, and Charlie closed his eyes, quickly drifting off to sleep. “Hey, Charlie?” 

“Hmm?” 

“That Antonio kid was pretty cool, huh?” 

Charlie cracked one eye open to stare at Jack. He was on his stomach, eyes closed, and hugging the pillow like a koloa. “Yeah, he was.” 

“You’s think we’s gonna be friends with him forever?” He asked. 

Charlie closed his eyes, laughing softly to himself. “Yeah, I’s think we are. Now stop buggin’ me.” 

So he did. 


	4. Jack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really struggling with writing from Jack's POV in the way that I had been able to capture Race. Is it good so far? If there are any ways I can improve please please please let me know! 
> 
> Enjoy this chapter :)

The last box was sitting in the corner of Jack’s old room – or would it be considered new? Nothing had changed, in his room or Charlie’s. Every last detail was the same. His walls were still coated in the paintings he had done and redone growing up, the door to his room has a dick carved on the bottom left corner back when he had refused to drive Les and Charlie to the movies, and, down the hall, was Charlie’s room, gathering dust. 

Being back in the house, actually living there, was odd to say the least. Jack constantly felt as if he were breaking some unspoken rule: Crutchie had to be here if he was really to live here. They had left together; they were supposed to return together. Move in together. 

Too bad things don’t always go to plan. 

Instead of Jack and Charlie moving in together with their significant others, it was Race helping him and Davey move in. Which was awkward for a number of reasons. 

None of them had talked about the past year, about losing one of the sweetest people they had ever known. They glossed over it because no one could even mention Crutchie with going misty eyed. Jack kept acting like Charlie was still there or would be there soon. It had been six months and he couldn’t bring himself to use past tense. 

On top of that, Jack and Davey had begun dating a few months before Crutchie died but had kept it a secret. None of their friends knew, not even Sarah or Race, making it hard to explain why the two were moving into a large house together. The apartment made sense, two friends trying to spare themselves from dorm costs in an already expensive city. 

“Well, Jack,” Race said, stretching out his back. He didn’t seem to be catching onto Davey and Jack’s relationship, which was a blessing. “You’re all moved in.” 

His accent had faded over the years, becoming more of a cliché Italian-American accent. Jack easily would give $5 to hear him say “forget about it” once or twice and he had. 

“Hey, thanks for helpin’ me out.” Jack rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. It was only after Charlie’s death that they had begun to tell each other ‘thank you’ and ‘I love you.’ 

Race waves away his words. The sound of tape being ripped off the box takes place of the ‘no problem.’ Not all of them were ready to face their feelings. “I’ve got nothing going on.” 

That was a lie. Jack knew it and Davey knew it too. They had asked Specs for help, but he had mentioned his date with Race. 

He watched Race unbox Davey’s many novels and poetry books with a soft smile. It was good knowing he ranked high in some people’s priorities. Jack had always been first on Crutchie’s list. The smile vanished at that thought. He grabbed a random box off the ground and practically throws it on the bed. 

Sometimes he hated Charlie for dying. 

Jack ripped into the box; the sound of tape destroying cardboard deafened him. He had no clue what was even in the boxes. Packing had caused him to black out. Hours of folding and refolding clothes until everything fit perfectly in Jack’s standards. Hours had turned into days without eating or drinking or showering. Days of Davey panicking because he couldn’t pull Jack out of this ditch. That’s where Race stepped in. 

He sat with Jack. Helped him fold and refold. Got the work done quicker than ever thought possible. Pulled Jack from that blackout quicker than anticipated. Neither mentioned therapy, though Jack knew that’s where their minds went when he muttered the soft, “Is it Friday already?” 

It turns out there had been a method to his madness. The box was stuffed full of sweatshirts and sweatpants. His cozy box. Somewhere there was a sporty box and a preppy box and a hipster box and an artist box. Everything was organized beautifully, at the mere cost of Jack’s sanity. 

He rifled through the contents, coming across an item that didn’t belong in the cozy. There was a face staring up at him. Blank eyes. 

“Oh.” Jack hesitated before finally pulling out the plush Panda that had followed Crutchie from hospital to hospital. “How’d this get in with my stuff?” 

Davey glanced over, eyes immediately searching for Race. His dark eyes were caverns of fury. Jack could see he was in no mood to deal with another one of his breakdowns. Something tugged at him, deep inside his chest: guilt. 

It hadn’t been his fault that Crutchie passed away. He was sick and had been for a while. Jack couldn’t figure out why his friends always became tense, aloof whenever he was grieving. Fear joined the guilt; it shoved deep into his soul, begging for a place to stay, and seeking comfort in his most hidden reservoirs. His friends didn’t care about him. They had only stuck around because they loved Charlie. Why else would they have? 

Jack couldn’t wrap his head around it. He stared deep into the eyes of the bear. No answers to be found there. He was alone in this struggle. Completely and utterly tossed into solitude, whether everyone else noticed it or not. 

He was sure Davey had noticed it, his loneliness, or, at least, he hoped he had. The last three days had kept Davey hunched over the kitchen table, figuring out finances to keep the house. He would sit there for hours, calculating and crying. Jack laid in bed, listening to his boyfriend breakdown, and the guilt nestled next to his heart stronger than ever. He wanted to be strong for Davey. He wanted to, somehow, force himself to be better, to find the strength to push himself out of bed and comfort Davey the way he had helped him through losing Charlie. 

Jack couldn’t do it. He let Davey sit at the kitchen table crying for days. Suddenly, Davey wasn’t there to care for Jack. He was too busy having breakdowns of his own, resorting to sleeping on the couch rather than deal with the mess Jack was, though he couldn’t really blame him. Jack deserved to waste away, alone in that bed. Both were too broken to help fix one another. It wasn’t until Medda intervened and simply let them rent the house that Davey came back and slept in the same bed as Jack. Somehow things were fixed. 

Except they weren’t at all. Tensions were high and patience was thin. Race was there to soothe everything over. They could always count on him for that. 

“I remember that little guy!” He cooed, positioning himself to glance over Jack’s shoulder. “We should return him to his rightful home on Charlie’s pillow.” 

Jack nodded numbly and allowed himself to be lead out of the room. As they were leaving, Davey shot Race a grateful look. He wondered when the two had got so close. 

The walk to Charlie’s room wasn’t long, but it felt like an eternity. 

The door was closed. It had been since that day. Jack had gone in, lied down on the floor, and screamed until his throat was so raw he couldn’t talk for days. Medda hadn’t even gone in, respecting Jack’s wishes to keep the room suspended in time. “I’s can’t do this.” 

“Ok.” Race sets his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “We don’t have to. I can do it if you’re not ready.” 

Jack blinked and tilted his head to squint up at Race. “You’s mean you’s ready? Ta move on?” 

“I think I am. I mean, I hope I am.” Jack followed Race’s sorrowful gaze to the stuffed panda bear. “I just want to be able to think about him and be happy, not have this huge pit in my chest.” 

“Me too.” He pushed up on his tip toes to brush his fingertips along the top edge of the door frame until they rested atop the dusty key. The movement was stalled by Race, who jerked Jack away from the door harder that he would have expected. “Oi! Whatcha tossin’ me ‘round for?” 

Race stared at the key, covered in spiderwebs and dust bunnies, clutched in Jack’s calloused hand. “If you aren’t ready I don’t want to force you. It’s not- It wouldn’t be healthy.” 

“Fuck healthy. Even the healthy ain’t healthy.” Charlie certainly hadn’t been. 

He popped the key in the lock and turned, pushing the door open all in one fluid movement. 

Jack wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. It was all as he had left it. The bed was neatly folded, though Charlie’s Nikes were strewn about the room without a care in the world. His crutches from high school were hung proudly on the wall. He always had the best sense of humor. The calendar was still on October. Had he really passed away that long ago? 

Tentatively, Jack stepped into the room. Nothing happened. The world didn’t come crashing down on him. Charlie’s ghost didn’t come out and damn him to hell. It was just an average Tuesday. So that’s exactly how Jack treated it. He walked over to the bed and plopped the stuffed panda on Charlie’s pillow. 

The only thing was that Jack couldn’t force his feet to move. All he could do was stare at that bear with its matted fur and dirty patches. 

“He really likes his bear,” Jack said, voice warm but his face couldn’t manage a smile. Not in this room. Not where everything still had the strong scent of axe cologne Charlie would practically bathe in. 

There was a heavy sigh from beside him. No doubt the beginning of a long lecture. Davey did that a lot, likely where Race had adopted the habit from, since they were all buddy- buddy now. It was fine, really. Race was a good kid as was Davey. Their friendship made sense, if a little mismatched. Jack didn’t need friends anyway. He had Charlie – he had had Charlie. Now he had no one. 

“Liked,” Race corrected him. “He really liked the bear.” 

Jack stared at the plush toy perched atop the pillow. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to be having right now, but the one thing Race hadn’t picked up from Davey was backing away from a fight. 

“You can’t keep talking like he’s still here, Jack.” His voice sounded raw, pleading. Jack’s resolve began to crumble. Race had always been the strong one, him and Specs. They would crack jokes and make everyone smile and feel okay. Jack had been like that once. “I’m serious.” 

A string of curses came muffled from the other room, Davey was no doubt having a breakdown of his own. 

“Why’s don’t you’s just go help Dave. Y’all can run away together.” Jack all but spat the words out into the room, tainting the innocence. He ruined everything. 

Race flinched at the words but came to stand next to Jack and stare at the bear. “We’re only friends. I like someone else.” 

“I’s already know.” Jack ran a hand over his face. His eyes squeezed closed, blocking out the blurry image. “Specs told me you’s had a date when I’s asked for his help ta move.” 

Race nods and glances over at Jack as though he’s unsure of what to say. Everyone treads lightly around him. It pissed him off to no end. After a few moments, Jack realizes he’s simply waiting for an apology. There’s a tightening in his chest; he hadn’t meant to be so cruel. 

“Sorry. I’s just feel like–” He stopped himself. Jack had no clue what he felt anymore, on the rare occasion he felt anything at all. “I’s was never alone with Charlie – when Charlie was here. Now, it seems like y’all want nothin’ ta do with me.” 

Twig like arms wrap about him. Jack had been hugged a lot at the funeral. Davey had hugged him a lot since then, as had Medda. None of them had felt real. This hug, Race’s hug, held everything the other ones were lacking: hope. There was no pity, no sadness, no rage, and no disappointment. Just love and hope. “None of us will ever not want you, Jack.” 

When he said it, Jack felt like maybe, just maybe, he was right. Still, he wasn’t going to tear down his walls that easily. This pain was his. “Let’s go,” He said and walked past Race, right out of the room. 

Race followed but lingered in the doorway, he wasn’t done. His thin fingers ran slowly over the worn wood of the frame. “It doesn’t seem real.” 

“What doesn’t?” Jack asked, though he knew the answer. He was itching to close the door, lock out all the memories, and never speak again. This was all too painful. This was all too soon. It would always be too soon. 

There was a vague gesture towards the expanse of Charlie’s room and it told Jack all he needed to know. “It hurts,” Race said. He was sitting on the bed before Jack could even process the movement. Everything was happening so quickly. Life was flashing by before his eyes, leaving him standing alone in its wake. “Not having Charlie around, but then there’s seeing you like this.” 

“What?” Jack stepped across the threshold into the room once more. It wasn’t like Race to be so vague. His specialty was making sure everyone knew what he was thinking. “I’s been the same, just minus Charlie.” 

Race let out a bitter laugh. “You really don’t see it, do you?” 

“I’s is fine.” That was a lie. 

“But you aren’t. The past week has been you folding and refolding clothes. You didn’t even eat for fucks sake!” Race was becoming frantic. He was gesturing wildly with his hand. “We are all worried about you and, worst of all, you don’t care. I’m begging you: please care. I need you to care! I can’t– I can’t lose you too.” 

“I’m sorry.” That was the truth. At least, partially true. 

Jack watched Race struggle to form a sentence, every word cut off by a bubbling sob. He crossed the room and threw his arms around his best friend. The past six months Jack had cried about losing Charlie. This was the first time he had cried over losing himself and his friends. 

They sat on Crutchie’s bed for a while crying out everything that words couldn’t express. When had it gotten so hard to talk to each other? As kids it was easy, blurt out a sentence and everyone ran with it. These days everything felt fragile. Maybe it was because they’ve all been broken and the slightest shift in wind can bring all their hard work crashing down. 

It wasn’t until Davey knocked on the door that the two came to their senses. What a sight they were: barely adults, tossed into this horrid reality, clinging to one another with swollen eyes and hoarse throats. 

“Hey.” He awkwardly cleared his throat and glanced around the room, but never stepped across the threshold. Charlie and he had never been close, not by the standards compared to the rest of the gang. Stepping into his room somehow felt like a violation of privacy. Though, how much privacy could a dead person need. “Elmer, Finch, and Specs wanted to crash for a housewarming party, but I can call back and tell them that we’re not guest ready yet?” 

Jack could tell the inflection wasn’t supposed to be there. Davey had been caught off guard by the smile on Jack’s face when he brought up their crew of friends. It was odd, but not unwelcome. 

“No! They can come over,” Jack said, still smiling. “I think seeing some people would do me some good.” 

“I think a shower would do you some good.” Race sniffled and wiped at his face but was grinning as well. Davey had no clue what the hell he told Jack. Regardless, he was grateful. This was the most himself Jack had been in a while. He just hoped it would last. 

Jack pushed off the bed. “Yeah, yeah. A fella can take a hint. I’ll be back!” He shuffled out of the room and ignored the way Davey’s voice dropped to a hush when he began speaking to Race. Their conversation nagged at him; Jack longed to creep at the doorway and listen to them worry and cry over him, but he walked straight to the bathroom. 

The whispers wouldn’t ruin his mood. All he wanted was to be happy, just for a few hours. Joy wouldn’t last. Jack knew that, he could live with that. He was simply grateful for the mere hope his elation brought him. 

Thirty minutes later, Jack was freshly showered and watching Davey nervously scuttle about the living room. Upstairs the water was running as Race took his turn in the shower. “Babe, they’s been ova a hundred times, why the hell is you’s cleanin’ like yer Ma is comin’ ova?” The sound of the vacuum drowned out his question. 

The doorbell rang, the vacuum stopped, and Jack went to answer the door. 

“Jackie!” Elmer screeched, shoving past Finch and Specs to tackle Jack. They crashed to the ground with a laugh. The dark parts of his brain told him that he didn’t deserve to be happy. Jack pushed those thoughts away. He knew the fall back into the numbness would be fast and hard. 

The laughter of his friends brought him back to reality. Jack allowed himself a breath. Six months of holding his breath. Six months without his best friend. He was stealing this moment back for himself. That’s all he wanted. A moment. 


	5. A bird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This is a longer one for you guys because I'm going on vacation for about two weeks so I won't be able to upload anything. (I'm gonna see the Pacific Ocean for the first time ahhhh!)
> 
> Hope you all enjoy :)

Seventh grade was a blur. Life moved so quickly when home was in one place; even faster when Charlie’s friend group of one multiplied quickly into a group of 5, not including himself, of course. With Race being in a grade below them he introduced two more individual’s into Jack and Crutchie’s lives: Specs and Elmer. 

They reminded Charlie a lot of himself and Jack. Specs, affectionately named for his thick lensed glasses, was quiet, thoughtful, and introverted until he got to know someone, then he was loud, rambunctious, with a contagious bout of laughter. He had never known his father, which only solidified their understanding of one another. Charlie and him were both self-declared geeks, spending hours upon hours discussing _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone_ , the book had just been released and had taken over their lives. 

Elmer was the exact opposite of Specs and Charlie. He was more like Jack in his bold nature and quick wit. There was passion in everything he did, and Elmer did a lot. Whereas Jack had art, Elmer struggled to find his niche. He was a floater before Race had roped him into this friend group. There was no definitive place for Elmer. For a while he had been a band kid, then a mathlete, a jock, a prep, and a skater. Nothing seemed to fit just right, even if he had enjoyed his brief time enjoying different aspects of life. 

For about half of seventh grade it was them five. They would do everything together. Elmer and Specs even went to group with Jack, Race, and Charlie some nights just to show their support. Their friendship was the kind movies made every kid yearn for. There was just one problem. 

Math class had taught Charlie about even numbers. How neat pairing off can be when a number wasn’t odd. Maybe it fit that they were odd, their homelives and personalities certainly proved that, but the problem with not having an even number of friends was that someone was always alone. 

The human brain couldn’t truly multitask, Charlie remembered reading that in a book. It didn’t matter how hard someone tried to convince themselves, they simply wouldn’t be able to devote their attention towards two different stimuli. Subconsciously they were all aware of that fact. Some days Charlie would be the odd one out and it would rotate each week. They had a system, and it worked, until it didn’t. 

Elmer was the first to grow tired. He was a floater by nature, staying long enough to reap the benefits before drifting off to the next clique. They didn’t notice as quickly as they should have. Whenever they all hung out he would flake out more and more. Suddenly their lunch table had one less person eating their and each of them had a few extra quarters at the arcade. 

Elmer was wandering from their lives. Thankfully, a bird stepped in to save the day. Literally. 

It was one of the final days that Elmer would be hanging out with them, not that it was common knowledge. Charlie just knew. The nagging feeling in his gut wasn’t just over the homework he was skipping to have pizza with the boys. Conversation with Elmer was scarce and flat. Nothing good ever came from those types of talks. 

“How has Mrs. Klem’s class been?” Charlie had asked, met with nothing more than a shrug and something crossed between a groan and a noise of indifference. That’s as far as he had gotten in the entire hour they had been at the pizza parlor. 

Jack hadn’t even noticed. His stories never missed a beat without Elmer’s one-liners that would have the entire table in stitches. “And then Mr. Krampus sat right in the pile of Jell-O!” He slammed his hand down on the table with a laugh. A round of laughter rose from the table. 

Everything felt forced now, from the smile to the way he held his pizza. Charlie couldn’t stop staring at Elmer, worried that this might be the last memory he would have of all four of them together. He watched the curly mop of hair peeking out from under a flat cap – Elmer had always had his own style – as the boy forced a laugh to fit in with the group. This fake version of his friend was not how Charlie wanted to remember Elmer. 

“Alright kids, the dinner rush is comin’ in and I’m gonna need that table.” A familiar voice stopped at their table. Their waitress, Hannah, stood at the head of their with a pot of coffee in her hand. She had always been the nicest waitress to the group of boys, allowing them to stay for a few hours after school before shepherding them back into the real world. “I have Nunzio heatin’ up a final slice for you children.” 

“Thank you, Ms. Hannah,” Charlie said, fishing this last few dollars out of his pocket to leave as a tip. She would always give them those last pieces on the house, but the boys more than made up for it in tips. 

The rest of the group followed suit in their chorus of ‘thank you’s’ and change was piled neatly on the table. “Oh, you poor kids are so sweet.” Hannah reached out to tussle each ones hair. “I’ll go grab your slices.” 

The days was slowly coming to an end, as well as their friendship with Elmer, though no one was the wiser. Charlie stared at the door to the kitchen. Voicing the concerns to the rest of the group had not gone well. Everyone had brushed the thought of Elmer leaving aside without a second thought. What if that happened to him one day? 

It almost had been him before Specs and Elmer were introduced. Race had first talked to Charlie, but befriended Jack faster than Charlie had. People were usually drawn to Jack, not that he could blame them. Jack Kelly was a magnet. 

Maybe that explained why as soon as the group left the parlor, pizza in hand, a bird landed on Jack’s head and made itself comfortable. Conversation went quiet among the rest of them, but Jack kept talking in true Jack Kelly style. The fact that they got a block down the street without him noticing was a feat within itself. 

“Charlie, you’s remember, right? When I snorted that paint thinner as a joke but had to be rushed to the hospital?” Jack rambled on and on. The story, in Charlie’s opinion, was honestly entertaining. He just couldn’t bring himself to answer beyond a nod and a ‘uh huh.’ The feathered friend had captured focus. 

The bird had the most vibrant hues of greens and yellows Charlie had ever seen on an animal, not counting the purple giraffes and pink panthers Jack would color to practice ‘realism.’ He had no clue how such an exotic looking bird could have managed to find itself in the middle of New York, on Jack Kelly’s head nonetheless. 

The setting sun shone bright. A ray hit the bird’s chest dead center causing a harsh glare of metal to momentarily blind Charlie. As he looked away in a pitiful attempt to blink the blind spots from his vision Charlie saw Race tug on Specs sleeve. No doubt he was thinking that the metal proved his theory that birds were actually robots made by the government. Upon closer inspection it could be seen that Race was a dumbass and the metal glare was actually a mini harness around the birds tiny body. 

“What kind of idiot puts a harness on a boird? Why take a boird on a walk?” Charlie leaned over and whispered to Elmer. 

He earned a shrug in response. “The same knucklehead that keeps a bird as a pet.” Elmer has a grin on his face, something Charlie hadn’t seen in a hot second. 

The smile was refreshing for the short while it lasted. Elmer didn’t fool himself for a second, a trait Charlie only wished he could possess. Naivety and idealism were his middle names. There were nights that Charlie would lie awake and stare at the ceiling trying to convince himself that the world wasn’t bad. He had believed, as a young child, that his parents left him for a rich couple to pick up and spoil. Obviously, that hadn’t happened, but Jack and Medda were a better trade off than he ever could have imagined. Charlie just hoped Elmer felt the same way about their small friend group. 

Once more the tension was laid on thick between Elmer and the rest of the group. Jack kept talking, no surprise, and everyone else watched the bird. Well, everyone minus Elmer. He seemed rather intent on floating away from the group no matter how much of a weight Charlie was trying to be. He started straight ahead, not even bothering to give Jack the slightest lick of attention. 

So, they walked. Jack leading the pack. Elmer followed close behind, but off towards the side as though he were about to break into a run down an alley at any given moment. Charlie was dragged into conversation making bets with Specs and Race on how many blocks it would take Jack to notice the live animal sitting on his head. They had already walked three blocks and had about six more to Specs apartment complex. Whoever was closest without going over won a whole $20. 

Charlie bet he didn’t notice at all; Specs gave the benefit on the doubt and said about two more blocks, whereas Race said five more blocks. No one said anything. All eyes were on Jack and the bird. 

“Oi!” Elmer was the one to finally speak up, but not for the reason everyone was expecting. “You might want to step aside, some crazy is runnin’ at ya full speed.” 

As usual, Elmer went unheard or Jack was only listening to himself tell a story. Either was plausible, though the latter was most likely. The ‘crazy’ as Elmer had dubbed him was sprinting towards Jack at the speed of light – he didn’t know it at the time, but the speed at which Finch was running would spark countless debates about if Race truly deserved the nickname “Racetrack, which was odd because Finch and Race extremely similar in more ways than just speed. 

They were both gangly, more limbs than torso, with a curly head of hair and an abundance of energy. It was crazy because Finch looked more Italian did. Dark hair, dark eyes, tan skin. Race was pale and blond and blue-eyed, having more in common with Charlie than any other person from his heritage. 

Everything was a joke to them. They laughed at inappropriate moments and told jokes at the worst possible time, but all out of good intentions. They were geeky and passionate and some of the loudest people Charlie would ever know. Race was fast, that’s why they called him Race, so was Finch, which they all knew 

There was no crash of bodies and feathers flying everywhere. The stranger had come skidding to a stop about an inch in front of Jack, not speaking or even breathing. His finger was hovering above Jack’s head. No one spoke, a weird theme for today. 

A minute passed. Everyone stared at Jack, the bird, and the stranger. Even people on the street stopped to watch this rag tag group of kids downtown with half-eaten greasy pizza. Another minute passed. The bird must have finally realized what the fuck was going on because it tilted its head, chirped, and hopped onto Finch’s finger. 

Specs had won the bet. The asshole. 

“Who the fuck is you’se?” Jack asked. His eyes were wide, spellbound at this random, out of breath individual pulling a bird out of seemingly thin air; at the same time, Elmer bust out laughing. Truly and completely gut busting with laughter. He would have doubled over if Specs hadn’t reached out to steady him. 

Charlie couldn’t help but join him. No one had thought to prop him up, so he was the one to fall to the ground in a wheezing laughter. The look on Jack’s face had been priceless; it had completely slipped his mind that Jack truly had no knowledge of a bird ever using his head as a joyride. “Holy shit,” he rasped, wiping tears of laughter from his face. “Jack yer funny without even tryin’.” 

The stranger, though Charlie vaguely recognized him from the hallways at school, was busy clipping a leash onto the harness. He seemed more concerned with the welfare of his pet then the gasping mess of boys in front of him. 

“No, seriously.” Jack had that same dumbfounded gaze on his face. “Where da hell did that boird just come from?” 

At mention of the bird, the new comer snapped to attention. His gaze slipped to each boy, fully assessing their features and personalities before finally explaining the situation. “I was taking my bird with me on my weekly walk and she slipped her leash.” He spoke so nonchalantly that, for just a moment, Charlie didn’t even question it. 

“Who takes a bird on a walk?” Race, it seemed, was not as sold on the explanation. 

Specs rolled his eyes, playfully shoving Race. “Obviously he does. Don’t be such a dick.” 

“You’re the dick.” Race said. 

Jack stepped in between them before the cycle of ‘no you’ could begin. With reaffirmance that they wouldn’t go for each other’s jugular, Jack addressed the stranger. “Do you’se has a name?” 

“Oh, yeah. Most people call me Finch.” He smiled wide, using one finger to drag it along the back of his birds head. Charlie was beyond confused. As an animal lover himself, he understood it, but as a rational human being, harnessing a bird seemed like a cruel irony. 

“How fitting,” Elmer said, startling them all. He had drifted towards the edge of the sidewalk, almost completely away from the group. His eyes never left the bird. “What kind of bird is that?” he asked at the same time Charlie blurted out, “Do you go to our school?” 

It was clear that those weren’t the only two questions as Race and Specs looked ready to quiz Finch as well. He got to talking. “I do go to your school. I just stay out here in the city with my mom every other week. I’m in your gym class, Jack.” 

“Yeah! I knew you’se looked familiar!” 

Charlie rolled his eyes. “Jack, you’se wouldn’t notice a damn thing if it didn’t hit you’se right between the eyes.” 

“Actually,” Race pipped up. “The bird was in the same proximity as his eyes and he didn’t even notice that.” 

Everyone shared a laugh at Jack’s expense, while Specs geared up to fight Race on what the word ‘proximity’ actually dictated. Charlie chose to ignore those two and turned his attention back on the possibility of a new friend. An even number. “You’se should sit with us at lunch tomorrow.” 

Finch smiled at them. “I’d like that.” 

“It’s gettin’ late.” Jack rounded them up like a true cowboy. “We’s gotta get Specs home an’ make the subway.” 

Off they went, subconsciously pairing off. Race and Specs walked side by side, arguing about God knows what; Jack was with Charlie, quietly talking about his newest project for art; and Finch had paired up with Elmer, the only thing Charlie could make out was Elmer’s soft voice asking, “So what kind of bird it is?” followed by an ecstatic reaction from Finch. 

He smiled softly to himself. These were his people. These were the people Charlie wanted to spend the rest of his life with. 

________

Eighth grade was a blur as well, though there was more room to breathe knowing that no one was being left out. The breathing had to be done in short spurts and then held. Life was busy. Finding your niche in the world took a lot of trial and error. 

Charlie had tried out for soccer and, much to his surprise and Race’s excitement, made the team. Finch had started a new bird watching and other nature activities club. Jack was fully invested in art club. Race had joined every running sport and cooking club imaginable in a small suburban school. Specs had forced Charlie to join academic clubs like mathletes and the spelling bee, which were good for college applications later in life, but not for a 13-year-old whose biggest concern at home was if they had bagel bites or not. 

Still, their friendship was only strengthened by the business of middle school. The pizza parlor had been traded out for a roller-skating rink equidistant from everyone’s home, Specs had done the math, after Race kept complaining about how unhealthy pizza was and how he could make some that tastes much better. 

Charlie had no complaints. A new tradition had started. They would all go to group together on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Wednesday would be roller rink night, and Friday was Race cooking dinner for everyone. Everyone was happier. Hell, Jack was even out talked by Elmer some nights. 

Maybe it was knowing that Jack, Charlie, and Finch would be going into high school next year that forced them together. Age had never even been on their minds until the threat of facing a new school with only half the group was staring them in the face. That’s when everyone truly started pushing to meet at least once a week. 

That’s how they landed at the roller rink one Thursday night instead of group because Race had had a track meet the day before. What was odd about Thursday nights was the amount of kids from the other two middle schools in the district. One freckled face in particular caught Charlie’s eye. 

“Jack!” He attempted to yell over the music, but the sound of children and arcade games and shitty EDM drowned him out. Charlie was clinging to the wall on shaky fawn legs. He hated not having his two feet to walk on. Strapping wheels to shoes would definitely not be categorized under his top 100 favorite inventions. 

Much to his displeasure, everyone else had been a natural at roller skating or had picked it up within the first month of going. Charlie had been holding the wall for about three months now, making it hard to catch the attention of any of them when they were lapping him for the 100th time. 

“Jack!” Charlie screeched again, but Jack was a blur as he passed. The others followed close behind, also blurs. Looks like this mission was Charlie’s own to carry out. 

Slowly, he made his way over to the gap in the wall and shoved his way out past the large stream of kids rushing in. Charlie managed to find a bench and maneuver over to it without falling and making a fool of himself. Skates in hand, he set out on the task to locate a friendly face once more. 

The concession stand was swamped, but from what Charlie could remember Sean had been picky so he doubted that he would even eat the food here. The arcade was a safe bet, but that’s where he had seen him coming out of. The rink wasn’t a good place to look either, with the swirl of kids that mushed everyone’s features into one continuous person. 

Then there was a break in the crowd, a part in the red sea. A group of kids sat at one of the tables near the concession stand and Charlie would recognize the red sweater anywhere. It belonged to –

“Sean!” He had a thing for ugly wailing people’s names tonight, apparently, but this scream was the only one to pay off because Sean’s head shot up from the group he was in and immediately turned toward Charlie. 

“Charlie!” He waved and quickly turned back to his friends, muttered a few things, and made his way over to the bench Charlie had claimed as a safe haven. “How has you’se been doin’?” 

Sean seemed happier than Charlie could ever remember seeing him. Where there was usually a permanent scowl, spread a smile more charming that Charlie’s would ever be. He even leaned in for a huge hug before sitting down. It certainly wasn’t the Sean Conlon that had left Medda’s house, but was welcomed with open arms nonetheless. 

“Good! Real good. I’s made the soccer team with my friend, Tonio.” Sean clapped him hard on the shoulder, offering his congratulations. “Jack’s still Jack, paintin’ and stuff. What ‘bout you’se? How’s ya Mom?” 

“She’s great. Sober for a year an’ a half,” Sean said that with such pride. Charlie prayed she stayed sober, he didn’t think Sean would be able to handle it if she didn’t. “My Pa came back into the picture too. He’s loaded, said he’s gonna take me in until my mom is considered totally fit to parent.” 

Charlie grinned. “That’s wonderful! Hey, we’s should hang out sometime. Me, you, an’ Jack. We’s got a great group of friends. You’se would love ‘em.” 

“Sounds good! Look I’s gotta get back to my pals. See you ‘round?” 

Charlie nodded, and they hugged once more before Sean rushed off to his group of friends. He remained on the bench for another hour, watching the rink, and relishing in the thought that Sean was happy. 

“Hey, who was that you were talking too?” Race came skating up to him, impressive considering it was ugly shag carpet he was skating over. He never actually looked at Charlie when asking the question, simply stared at Sean’s profile. 

“Hitler,” Charlie said with a grin. As expected Race muttered a small ‘that’s nice’ and ignored everything Charlie had just told him. Poor thing was dumbstruck. 

The rest of the gang came up to the bench one by one, sending confused – angrier in Specs case – glances toward Race but staying silent. Well, Jack was never one for being quiet. “What lucky lady has caught yer eye, Racer? Is it the brunette over there? She’s a beaut.” 

“I think you mean ‘unlucky lady.’” Finch teased, and Race’s cheeks went red, but not for the reasons they thought. 

Charlie shot him a sympathetic glance. “Leave him alone, guys.” 

“Ah, Char.” Jack wrapped an arm around his neck and tussled his hair. “You’se is too soft sometimes.” 

“Am not!” He retorted quite childishly but was relieved to have the attention of Race’s secret. Things like that could be cause for dismissal from the group. Sexuality was a touchy subject, especially with leader Jack. One night, Elmer made like he was going in for a joking kiss and Jack lost his shit, broke a glass and everything. From then gay jokes were off limits. 

They all progressed into a fit of teasing and laughter. Charlie never did find the time to tell Jack about his conversation with Sean. He would always look back on that conversation with regret. There was too much he didn’t notice. Not enough questions asked. Maybe he could have helped him, but he just looked so happy. 

And Charlie was naive enough to believe that Sean could be so exaggeratedly happy. Funny how people can fool you like that. 


	6. Davey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry this took longer to get out than I predicted. Vacation was fun, but I have been so busy since getting home. Hopefully you all can forgive me :)
> 
> Also, I was just wondering if y'all actually enjoy this story or would rather have me wrap it up as soon as possible to continue Spot and Race's story. I love this story, but it isn't getting the same response as Paper or Plastic and i don't wanna torture anyone by making them wait for this story to be completed.

When Charlie got sick, Jack truly realized how many friends he had. 

For a while it had felt like he was all alone in the world. People would come and go when they would check up on him. None ever stayed. No one ever stayed. Not even Crutchie. 

Race was a constant, but he was too busy fucking around with Specs to notice the pain in Jack. It was always about Charlie. Sure, that probably made him an asshole, but wasn’t that always the word people would use to describe him. Charlie’s pain was psychical. Jack’s pain, the thought of losing his brother, tore his soul from his body and ripped it to pieces before his eyes. 

When Charlie died, Jack finally saw his brother once more. Not Crutchie. He’d never see him not being lowered into the cold, dark ground or attached to countless machines, hanging on for dear life. No, he found Spot again. 

The hospital room had always been crowded. Friends flocked to distract Charlie from the sickness. Spot never made an appearance, not that Jack could blame him. It was hard to see Crutchie sickly. While he had always been thin, Charlie was nothing more than skin, bones, and a smile that spread like butter. Seeing him hooked up to machines was sight not many could ever unsee, Jack certainly couldn’t. No one could fault Spot for not wanting to taint his memories of Crutchie. 

The last time Jack could remember seeing Crutchie and Spot together was their Fourth of July party, right before he got sick for the last time. 

Charlie would be seated next to Spot, bouncing off the walls at their few chances too see one another, guzzling his sixth soda of the night with the craziest pair of sunglasses he could grab off the rack of the dollar tree. He’d never quite made it to adolescence. 

Though it wouldn’t have been entirely accurate to have claimed that as their last time together. In fact, the funeral was the final time Spot and Crutchie would be near one another without six feet of cold dirt between them. 

Seeing tough men cry had always been off-putting. Spot crying had been terrifying no matter how justified. Jack had only seen him cry few times before that. Once when he knocked on the door to Medda’s house at 3 a.m. freshman year. Again when he had to testify against his father in court. Occasionally Jack would walk into him crying over Charlie’s condition, but those tears were quickly wiped from the face of the earth. 

Crying meant weakness in Spot’s mind as did making connections or reaching out. For a while, Jack was the same way growing up. No tears were to fall in view of others. People weren’t supposed to know true feelings. Everything had to be bottled up inside where it was safest. 

It wasn’t until Davey that Jack realized how stupid bottling everything up was. The first time openly crying in front of someone who wasn’t Crutchie felt liberating. Leaning into Davey’s chest and releasing years of anguish without fear of judgment- Jack never thought of a life where he could have those types of relationships. 

Yet here he was, rushing around the house as he prepared for Spot’s arrival, and his departure. 

Spot had sent him a text, asking if he could come over and talk about Charlie. Jack had cried simply reading the message. It was progress, his old therapist had constantly been praising him over progress. 

_Hey, Cowboy, the text read. It’s been a while. Sorry. Seeing you has been hard without Charlie close behind. Was wondering if you wanted to catch up?_

Someone had wrote it for him or edited it at the very least. Spot gave zero shits about grammar, spelling, or punctuation. Hell, half the time he used his accent as an excuse to shorten syllables. Who it could have been Jack had no clue, but they seemed to be a good influence on him or Spot just really wanted to show how much he needed this conversation. 

Jack hoped it was the latter. 

Perhaps he had learned his lesson. Ignoring the pain and hoping it would go away didn’t work. Being silent about the abuse certainly hadn’t helped. Everything had to work out today. It just had to. 

And then the entire meeting fell apart before Spot could even arrive. 

“It will be fine, babe.” Davey sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Jack had been rushing back and forth between the kitchen and the front room for the past hour, constantly forgetting the smallest of items. “He and I can manage an hour or two or awkward conversation while you help Medda. Your keys are hanging next to the fridge.” 

“He’ll never want to visit again.” Jack came out from the kitchen, spinning his car keys, mind reeling. There was no way in hell Spot would be okay with this. It had taken three weeks for him to even convince him to come visit and now Jack wasn’t even going to be there. 

He shoved his feet into some sneakers, not even caring if they were on correctly. Some days, like today, Jack wished the numbness would come back. He preferred it over the constant fear and anger. The feeling of his heart skipping beats and his stomach twisting in knots made him sweat, nervous to face the world. 

“Don’t forget to invite him to the party.” 

“I won’t, Jackie.” 

“And don’t–” 

“I won’t. I love you, now go.” Davey said with a sigh, practically shoving Jack out of the house. It was his first time going outside in over a week. Commissions had been few and far between. They were tight on money and Davey was running thin on patience. 

Three minutes hadn’t even passed before there was an abrupt knocking on the door. It sounded nervous, hesitant. Davey swung the door open only to come face to face with Jack. “What now?” He said with a huff. 

“I forgot my phone,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “And my house key.” 

“Check your pockets.” Jack obliged, finding not only his phone, but also his house key. He stared at them with glassy eyes. Empty eyes. Broken eyes. Talking to Spot would not help him if he couldn’t even help himself. 

Jack took a deep, shaky breath and released it all in a rush only to give a small, “oh.” That’s all he could muster. The numbness was creeping back in. He missed the anxiety. 

“You have to go now, Jackie. Medda’s waiting and the longer you take, the longer you’ll be gone,” Davey told him, gently as could be. He had been told to always push Jack in the right direction by the therapist. More often than not, that usually ending in screaming and Davey sleeping on the couch or relapses of Jack not leaving his room. 

No one moved. Jack was still too busy staring at the house key in his palm. “Jackie.” Still nothing. With Jack it was always nothing. “Please. If not for me, then for Medda. She’s lost one son, don’t make her think she’s lost two.” 

He left without a goodbye, door wide open behind him as he tore out of the driveway. Davey was disappointed, but not surprised. 

“Care to tell me why my brother just went rippin’ out the neighborhood like a madman?” Spot hadn’t even shut the door to his truck before he started yelling. 

This day was about to go as Davey had expected: tense and awkward. 

“Nice to see you too, Sean.” It took everything in Davey’s power not to sneer. He understood that Spot had gone through some shit, but he could never comprehend why he felt the need to take it out on other people. To him, that was a conscious effort, being mean to people. Jack was always quick to defend Spot. Figures. 

Sean let himself in, quickly making himself at home – though, technically this was his home. Spot had grown up here. Every crook and cranny had been his safe space growing up. 

“Stop avoidin’ the question, Mouth.” Spot didn’t stick around to hear the explanation. He was already making his way to the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of tea. While he moved like the house was still his to roam, his outfit betrayed that confidence. 

His usual muscle tea had been traded for a button up polo with an ascot and his typical skinny jeans with suspenders were now khaki’s. Spot could advertise to take Fred’s spot in Mystery Inc. but now was not the time to ask, nor tease, him over it. After all, he was still fuming. 

“Where the hell is Kelly goin’?” 

Davey followed, feeling like a guest in his own home. “Medda needed his help moving things into her new flat.” 

Spot regarded him warily. His dark eyes were narrowed, his glass of tea drained, and Davey was wishing he was babysitting Jack instead. At least with him he knew what to expect. “Why didn’t he tell me?” 

Davey shrugged. “Because the sky is blue? I don’t know, Sean. Jack does what Jack wants and he doesn’t care who it effects.” 

“Watch what you’s say ‘bout my brother–” 

“Will you cut it out!” Davey threw his hands up. “You’re a guest in my home. You have no right to come in here and threaten me. Jack is my boyfriend, my best friend. I’ve been the one caring for him since Charlie died. Where have you been? He needed someone, Sean. He needed you. Getting him out of bed everyday has been a nightmare. 

“This is his first time leaving the house in, like, a week. I’ve been sleeping on the couch for three weeks because he freaks out every time I try to sleep in any of the bedrooms. He sees Charlie everywhere he looks, and I can’t do anything about it. He won’t see a therapist. Fucking hell, he won’t do anything!” He was yelling, not the best way to start this conversation, but necessary nonetheless. 

Spot was certainly surprised. Davey had never spoken above an exasperated sigh in their conversations. He took a well needed moment to collect his thoughts, which, for Spot, meant pouring another glass of tea and draining it. 

“Sorry.” The apology was gruff, but sincere. Respectable. 

Davey waved his hand in the air, brushing aside the tension. “No, I’m sorry. I had no right to yell at you, Sean. You lost a brother too.” 

It went silent again. That seemed to be their theme. Neither of them knew each other well and barely even interacted even when Charlie was alive. It was always Jack stealing away his foster brothers while Davey hung around as an ironic fourth wheel. 

He cleared his throat, trying to swallow the awkwardness. “How have you been? Jack hadn’t heard from you in a while. He– we were nervous.” 

“It’s been goin’ as well as you’s would expect. First couple months was hard.” Spot took another sip of tea. “I’s met someone who’s really been helpin’ me deal with all this. He’s the one that convinced me’s ta talk ta Cowboy in the first place.” 

“I’m happy to hear that,” Davey said, and he meant it. After everything he had gone through, Spot deserved a break. Jack had told him stories of his childhood, on the days where he would slip into a reflective mess, and Davey couldn’t even imagine some of the scenario’s Sean had found himself in. 

Spot bristled at the sincerity. This interaction wasn’t how their relationship usually panned out. From their first conversation they had been at each other’s throats. Spot more so than Davey. He had lost it when Davey used ‘auspicious’ in a sentence, cussed him out in front of all their friends. Thank goodness Race hadn’t been there. Davey was sure he would never let him live down the day he got called a “prissy know-it-all cock-sucking son of a cow” when a simple “nerd” would have sufficed. 

“So, um.” Davey tried his hardest to break the silence. The least he could do for Jack was try to keep the awkward small talk going. “The Fourth of July party is in two weeks. It would mean a lot if you and you’re, um, partner could come.” 

For the first time that visit, Spot laughed. It was a piggy snort, but a laugh either way. “You’s is literally datin’ Cowboy, stop actin’ like gay people make you’s uncomfortable.” 

While everyone had suspected something more between Jack and Davey, Spot was the first person to call them out on their relationship. He didn’t even have time to formulate an indignant response. Spot was still talking. 

“Woah don’t go all weird on me, Mouth. I’s ain’t gonna tell no one. As much as I’s don’t like ya, Cowboy does an’ that’s all I’s need ta know you’s a good person.” Spot drained the rest of his glass, loudly to avoid hearing Davey’s response, except for the fact that there was none. 

Davey’s heart was too busy melting. All the hostility he had towards Spot was swirling down the metaphorical drain. He and Jack couldn’t tell anyone; well, they could, but at this point there was no definitive way to see if their relationship would last. It was clear that they were on rocky ground, melting ice, whatever the expression being used, Davey liked to think they were fucked. For Spot to say something, though, gave him the slightest bit of hope. 

“You can’t tell anyone,” Davey said, speaking in hushed tones. He was paranoid in his own home. “Jack didn’t want anyone to find out because Charlie had gotten sick and now he’s not himself–” 

Spot scoffed. “He’s ‘imself, just tryin’ to cope with losin’ a brother. Imagine if you’s lost yer lil’ brother.” 

Just the mere consideration sucked the breath from Davey’s body. Losing Les was his worst nightmare. He stammered, trying to respond, but all he could picture was Crutchie’s funeral with his brother’s small, pale body in the coffin instead. 

“I’s know that ain’t what you’s meant, but he can’t be ‘imself if part of him is missin’.” 

Davey couldn’t handle this conversation anymore. Thinking of Charlie, Les, and Jack’s pain was overwhelming. As much as he prided himself of being aware of his emotions, breaking down in front of Sean was the last thing he hoped to do. So he shied away from the topic of loss. “Did your boyfriend dress you today?” 

Spot snorted once more. “That obvious?” 

“I mean, you are wearing an ascot.” Davey managed a smile, one that Sean shared. It seemed there was room for friendliness between them. 

“Fuckin’ ugly ain’t it? Itchy too.” 

Davey watched Spot pull at it, but he would always fix it to how it was positioned before. He never took it off. 

“Are you happy with him?” A rude question. Davey couldn’t bring himself to give a shit, bad habit to get into. Too bad he’d been living it for the past seven months. 

Spot shrugged. “Is you’s happy with Cowboy?” 

Tough question, but fair. “It’s complicated. I love him, but right now…” 

Before either of them had the chance to continue, Spot’s phone pinged. Then again, once more. Wait, it wasn’t done. Message after message came pouring in. All the cockiness left Sean as he scrolled through the messages. “Sorry, David. I’s gotta- I have to go.” 

He placed his cup in the sink and made his way to the door. 

Davey moved to block him. “Is everything okay? You haven’t even been here half an hour. Jack’s going to be crushed he missed you.” 

“Everything is fine. Thomas just wants me home.” Spot was speaking with much difficulty. Maybe it was the nervous way his eyes kept shifting to the door or, maybe, it was the way he over pronounced his words to mask his accent. “I shouldn’t keep him waiting.” 

“Will we see you at the party?” It was Davey’s last-ditch effort to keep Jack happy when he came home. 

Spot simply made his way towards the door with a shake of his head. “Tommy doesn’t approve of parties. Plus, goin’ an’ not seein’ Charlie. That would break my heart.” 

With that, he was gone. Jack was right, Spot was always leaving. 

Davey busied himself with cleaning the walls, the floors, everything and anything. He’d make sure the house was spotless for the party. 

Jack came home a few hours later. He had the biggest smile on his face, which slowly faded as he glanced around the, now clean, house. “Where’s Spot?” 

How was Davey supposed to break his heart when it was already in tatters? The silence gave Jack the answer he needed. He began to slide towards the floor, tears already rushing down his face. 

Love was complicated. Spot was never around, but Jack acted as though they talked every day. 

Love was complicated. Charlie had never hurt anyone in his life, but Jack was crippled by the pain Crutchie had inflicted on him. 

Love was complicated. Davey wanted nothing more to let Jack hit the floor and wash his hands of this drama, but he caught him before he fell and stuck by his side as the boy sobbed his heart out. 

Love was hell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always comments and kudos are appreciated :)


	7. A pair of crutches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI! School starts next week so I wanted to get this chapter out before then. That being said the next update may take a while as I get used to college, I have no clue how the load will be and need time to organize my life.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this chapter :)

The adults in his life always told Charlie that high school would be the best time in his life. That put a lot of pressure on four, already stressful, years. He’d seen The Breakfast Club and Heathers, cliques segregated the school. Every time he so much as thought about starting freshman year Charlie’s stomach would turn itself into knots. 

Jack wasn’t worried. That summer he had done the same stupid, dangerous shit he had always done without a second thought. He waited last minute to buy school supplies where Charlie had slowly been building up in the coming months. Jack couldn’t be bothered by the thought of another year or four of school. He had Charlie and Finch to join him in this journey. That’s all that mattered. 

Charlie wished he could be more like Jack. He wanted to desperately to wake up in the morning, roll out of bed, and have his first thought be about what kind of cereal he would be having today. Instead he would wake up in a sweat after another nightmare about losing his way and showing up to the wrong class. 

The anxiety was silly, in his mind at least. High school would be just like middle school but on a larger scale. That’s what Finch had told him, and Charlie trusted Finch. He just couldn’t explain the sense of dread that settled in his chest. When school started it was all the same. 

He had either Jack or Finch in everyone of his classes. Nothing to be worried about and yet Charlie simply could not shake the feeling that something terrible was going to happen that year. That’s the thing about gut feelings; they should never been taken lightly. 

For a while everything was calm. Well, Charlie’s version of calm. He was in every club that would fit into his schedule: student council, art club, journalism, mathletes, chess club; the list went on. Not only that, but he also tried out for every sport he could on top of everything else: tennis, track, cross country, baseball, volleyball, and, of course, soccer. Over involved didn’t begin to describe Charlie’s high school career. 

Surprisingly, Charlie was having fun through his first year of high school. He stayed on top of his grades and extra circulars, college being the ultimate motivator behind it. Soccer and track where the true distractors from his growing anxiety about not seeing Race, Specs, and Elmer every day. Charlie loved the sports, but he pushed himself harder than ever to be the best at them. 

There were days he would come home completely bruised, legs swollen, pale, and shaky. But he couldn’t just slow down. That would only increase the chances of him competing poorly at his first meet, where all his friends would be watching from the sidelines, cheering him on. No, Charlie would work himself to the point of fevers, because some alarm inside him was constantly on alert and no one could figure out what it meant. 

Therapy usually helped curb those impulsive behaviors. Charlie didn’t have time for group anymore. Not with a schedule jam packed and random bursts of sickness in between. Jack still went once a week. He was only in art club but exercised by kicking ass behind the gym after school. 

In his defense, Jack only ever beat up those picking on the weaker man. Even playing field. 

“Who do those belong to,” Charlie motioned to the bruises on Jack’s hand as they walked to English. These wounds were fresh. No doubt Jack had skipped gym again to take justice into his own hands. 

Jack shrugged. “Some junior was harassin’ these girls an’ I wasn’t havin’ it- Oi! Hey man!” He interrupted his own story to fist bump a random senior Charlie had never seen in his life. Jack had a lot of friends that Charlie didn’t know, that’s just how Jack lived his life. Charlie was popular too, but only in school. When that bell rang everyone forgot he existed. 

Not today though. Today was his first soccer game. The halls were buzzing with excitement, after all, the school had won nationals the year before. Charlie was practically bouncing off the walls. He knew he was good; the coach had told him that he was one of the best defensive players the school had ever seen. Now all he had to do was prove it. 

Easier said than done. 

Every movement Charlie made was one of pure anxiety. That gut feeling he had been having since summer’s end was at its strongest now. Something bad was bound to happen and it was going to be today. 

 

The weather was perfect. Not too hot, but still warm enough to attract a crowd. There was a slight breeze that would cool him off once the game was in full swing. Charlie scanned the stands for Jack and Finch but couldn’t locate them. He was hoping that the two were just going to grab Race, Specs, and Elmer and didn’t forget about him. 

Charlie settled into an easy routine of stretching, choosing to focus on the game and ignored attempts at conversations with the rest of his team. One junior, Buttons, had quickly become friends with Charlie and was more focused on social hour than soccer. 

“Hey, Charlie.” Button, speak of the devil, jogged up to Charlie as he sat on the ground stretching out his hamstrings. “You ready?” 

Before Charlie could even answer a familiar voice called out from the sidelines. “Oi! Charlie!” He pushed himself off the ground and ran over to the fence. Elmer was leaning against the chain links. “You’s nervous?” 

Race ran up behind Elmer, hopping onto his back with a laugh. “Don’t ask stupid questions, of course he’s nervous.” 

Finch appeared randomly at their side, grinning broadly. “He has no reason to be. Char, you’re going to be amazing.” 

“Duh!” Jack was close behind, followed by a sleepy Specs. Charlie grinned, the gang was here. “Medda got called in ta work. She’s real upset she couldn’t come.” 

He waved his hand. “It’s okay. I’s got y’all ta cheer me on.” 

“Don’t say ‘y’all’.” Specs cringed. “You sound too much like Jack and god knows I can’t handle more than one Jack Kelly in my life.” 

“Aw,” Jack cooed, wrapping Specs in a big hug. “Y’all love me an’ you’s knows it.” 

Everyone laughed at Specs expense and settled into easy chatter. No one mentioned the game, or how Charlie kept doing calf raises and ankle rolls as they talked, they figured it would just make him more nervous than he already was. 

After a while Coach blew the whistle and everyone started gathering by their bench. “I’s gotta go!” Charlie said with a nervous bounce. 

A chorus of “you’re gonna do great,” “I’m proud of ya,” and “we’re rootin’ for ya” spilled from his friends. He gave them a strained smile and a quick wave, then turned on his heel. 

“Break a leg!” Finch called from the sidelines, flashing two thumbs up Charlie’s way. 

He couldn’t help but laugh. Even if they lost, he would still have these four dorks. “Don’t worry. I will,” Charlie called out over his shoulder as he jogged towards the rest of his team. It was go time. 

The game was pitiful, to say the least. Everyone was giving it their all, but both teams were so evenly matched that they were stuck chasing each other up and down the field. Shots on goal were at an all time low, morale was dropping drastically, and Charlie was exhausted. 

With three minutes left on the clock he got the opening he needed. One of the offense from the other team was lazily making their way towards him but hadn’t seen Charlie off to his far left. Seeing this as one of the last opportunities to steal the ball he made his move. 

For a moment, Charlie’s life was like a movie. The slow-motion camera had started to roll, capturing the exact moment he stole the ball and began sprinting towards the other end of the field. He could see it now, the sweat dripping down his face, twisted in pain as he pushed himself. His legs were pumping, lungs aching in the best possible way. The ball was between his feet and the goal posts were within reach, a straight shot. 

“Woo! Go Char!” Jack’s husky yell was prominent against the other cheers in the crowd. As was Race’s random screaming, no doubt annoying everyone in the stands. 

Charlie merely pushed himself harder. His friends were watching. He couldn’t be another disappointment, some mistake to be dumped at another’s doorstep. Not today. Today he would make the first goal of the season. The beginning to a new beginning. 

“Charlie, on your right!” His teammate called to him, somewhere behind him though Charlie wasn’t entirely too sure. Instead his focus had been thrown to the approaching opponent on his right-hand side. More specifically, to the leg stretching out to intercept him. 

There wasn’t time to move. The ball was stolen, his leg buckled underneath him, and a white-hot pain flashed through his right leg. Charlie screamed. The angle his foot rested in was unnatural, and painful to say the least. 

Jack was at his side already. How had he moved so quickly? How long had he been staring at the odd position his ankle was in? Time had slowed for him as he hyper focused on the injury. 

“Char?” Jack grabbed his shoulder, shaking Charlie gently from his panic. “Hey, bud. Char? Answer me, please.” 

The terror in Jack’s voice forced his gaze from his leg to his brother, but no words could escape him. Nothing had since that bloodcurdling scream when it had happened. Charlie was afraid that if he opened his mouth, then everyone would see him start bawling his eyes out. He wasn’t about to cry. No, he would be known as the badass that broke his leg barely even reacted. 

In the ambulance, which the school had insisted on calling of insurance purposes, Charlie was weeping like a little bitch. The doors barely even had time to slam shut and tears were streaming down his face. 

Jack was practically shitting himself. He shifted nervously, earning a scolding from the paramedic to sit still more than once. “Does it hurt real bad, Char?” He asked, reaching over to squeeze Charlie’s shoulder in an awkward gesture of comfort. 

In all honesty, Jack should not have been the one to accompany Charlie on this ride. Finch or Specs, hell even Emler, would have been a better option. Jack and Race were bad with comfort. Their style was freak out first and freak out later, whereas the others managed to stay calm under stressful conditions. 

When boarding the ambulance they argued for a solid five minutes on who was going to accompany Charlie to the ER. Finch was a front runner, being Charlie’s best friend and all, but Jack was stubborn and insisted on being by his brother. It was for the best, because Charlie knew that Jack would have freaked out way worse had he not been able to see his condition. 

Charlie shook his head; his ankle didn’t hurt as bad. The sharp shooting pains had morphed into a dull ache, but that wasn’t why Charlie was crying. Pain was temporary, soon enough he would be at the emergency room hyped up on morphine or some other drugs. 

“Then what’s with the waterworks?” Jack’s rough fingers wiped at Charlie’s cheeks. His hands were shaking, but Charlie didn’t say anything. Jack was just trying to help, be a good big brother. 

“My leg’s broken,” Charlie sniffled. “I’s broke my leg the first game of the season. I’s won’t be able to play at all. It’s so embarassin’.” 

He was a disappointment. The coach, his team, his friends had all been counting on him and he cracked, literally, under pressure. Most of all, Charlie had disappointed himself. This was supposed to be his big break. A way to make a name for himself, to make all that hard work training pay off. 

“Hey.” Jack squinted at him. “You’s ain’t the mopey type, Char. You’s the ‘everythin’ happens for a reason’ bullshit–” the paramedic grunted– “Sorry, sir. I’s meant, you’s the optimist. A broken leg isn’t the end of the world. Now you’s get a cool pair of crutches an’ can take the elevator at school. Plus, you’s got next year to play.” 

Charlie allowed himself that small gleam of hope. He smiled. Maybe Jack was right. In a couple months he’d be good as new. This was a setback, but not the worst thing that could have happened. After all, it was just his ankle. 

They arrived at the hospital in record time, despite the sirens not being on. Medda was already there as Charlie was wheeled in as was the rest of his friend group. 

“Everyone!” A professional looking doctor came over waving his arms. “Waiting room, please! This is a hospital not a zoo, these are not animals to gawk at.” 

They were all ushered to the waiting room as Charlie was taken to have X-rays taken of his leg. 

Turns out, it wasn’t just his ankle. He had a stress fracture in both his fibula and femur. Making recovery and physical therapy just about double. Charlie would have to take extra care not to place himself under anymore stress. Fracturing one of those bones for real would be hell. 

The doctor had been outside the room talking to Medda for a while, longer than a couple fractures should have taken. She came in with tears in her eyes but smiled and kissed Charlie on the top of his head anyway. 

“What’s wrong, Miss Medda?” Race, he was the only one with the balls to call her out, asked. 

Medda smiled and ruffled Charlie’s hair. “I was just so scared getting a call from the school telling me that one of my babies had been injured. That’s all.” 

No one pressed the matter any further. Even though they all knew it had to be bad if Medda was the one close to tears. They chose to settle into easy conversation instead, allowing Specs and Race to lead the discussion. 

“Look, all I’m saying is that cereal could be considered a soup!” Race threw his hands up just as a very confused nurse walked in. His face went red, but he kept going, committed to the bit. “The milks the broth part.” 

Elmer shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dumbass.” 

The nurse stood awkwardly in the door way, as if weighing if this were a good time to interrupt the important conversation. Thankfully, Medda made that decision for her. 

“Come on in, dear.” The charming thick accent and wave of her arm was all the nurse needed to feel welcomed and less like an intruder. 

“Thanks.” She smiled and turned to Charlie. “Alright, you can go home in a little bit. We’re fixing up your discharge papers. You’re going to have a boot and a wheelchair” 

“Wait, that’s it. Just a boot?” Charlie pouted, crossing his arms childishly. “I’s wanted crutches.” 

She glanced nervously at Medda, who remained impassive. This conversation was quickly falling apart. “Ok, I can talk to the doctor about it.” 

“You’s better! We’s went out an’ bought ‘im a bunch o’ stickers just to decorate them.” Jack gestured to the various books of stickers Finch was flipping through. There were Ninja turtles, stars, sea creatures, and just about anything they could find at The Dollar General. 

The nurse excused herself, no doubting wanting to escape the crazed room of teenage boys and wondering why they wanted crutches so badly. Most people would kill to ride around in a wheelchair for weeks. 

But that wasn’t what Charlie wanted. He wanted to hobble around, still being as active as possible. He wanted something to reach out and jokingly hit Jack or Finch with in the hallways. He had always wondered how using crutches was like, and when would this opportunity arise again? 

Hours later, the group walked out of the hospital, with Charlie tottering close behind. The crutches were less comfortable than he had expected, but they were stylish as could be. The stickers made him more excited to use them, genius idea from none other than Specs. “Hey! Slow down, I’m crippled.” He called out with a laugh. 

“Shoulda’ thought about that before ya became one, Crutchie,” Elmer teased, and everyone fell into a fit of giggles. 

“Hey, that’s actually a good nickname for ya, Char.” Jack fell into step with Charlie and nudged him playfully. “Seein’ that you’s is gonna be hobblin’ ‘round with these for a while.” 

A murmur of agreement went through the group and from that moment on, Charlie was reborn as Crutchie. Trying to explain it to people at school the next day was delightful. Their faces would fall once they heard his nickname was based off his crippling injury. Once they saw him laughing, however, everyone seemed to be more comfortable calling him Crutchie. 

Maybe Jack was right. This did happen for a reason. It gave him a chance to start over. Brand himself as someone other than the foster kid without any parents. He was the kid who broke his leg the first game of the soccer season. The one who’s crutches had become his extensions of his limbs as time went on. 

He was simply Crutchie. 


	8. Jack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this story so much, but I feel like my writing is nowhere near as good as Paper or Plastic? :(   
> Expect chapter updates closer to every two weeks. I'm writing in between assignments as of late and school is top priority. 
> 
> Also, as you read this chapter, just bask in the nerdiness of me being a plant mom for a bit. Hope y'all enjoy :))

When Jack had gone to therapy, all those months ago, the therapist had recommended plants. Simple as that. 

“Plants?” Jack had snorted, masking his anger. How dare he pay to be told that the secret to overcoming grief is actually just a bunch of twigs and leaves. “How the fuck is that gonna help me?” 

His therapist displayed no emotion at the outburst. Bastard. “By caring for it, obviously. You looked after your brother often, didn’t you?” He leaned forward, towards Jack. The pencil and paper had long been set aside; if it was in his hands, Jack was impossible to work with. 

“Oh.” Jack shifted uncomfortably in the squishy armchair at the mention of Crutchie. He would sink whenever he sat in it and usually that annoyed him, but, now, he would give anything to have the chair swallow him whole. Heat rushed to his cheeks. He felt stupid. Of course the plants were to replace Charlie. “I’s guess that might work.” 

It wasn’t a very convincing statement based off the look on his psychiatrists face. Jack threw his hands up. “I’ll give it a shot, okay?” He groaned. 

“I think it will help you, Jack.” Ha, as if. 

He left home depot that day with nineteen plants, one for every year of Charlie’s life, and three dollars in his bank account, funeral were expensive. There were flowers and ivy and succulents and cacti. All types, each one harder to kill. 

These one’s would live; Jack would make sure of it. 

As much as it pained him to admit, his shrink had been right. The plants helped. They did so much more than help. Even now, he watered most of the plants daily. He had a reason to get out of bed every morning. A routine. 

He would water every plant, inside and out, except for Sarah, Kath, Les, and Smalls – as succulents they only got watered once a month, unless they truly needed it. Spot didn’t get any water that didn’t come from the rain, prickly bastard. Jack would greet them all by names as he did so, smelling Boot’s, Ten-Pin’s, Jojo’s, and Itey’s flowers (they were pretty, even though the names escaped him) and picking Race’s and Button’s tomatoes. 

Finch was popular with the hummingbirds, unsurprisingly enough, and Snitch has blossomed into a cherry tree. Jack was shocked, then again, he had no clue what he had even purchased way back when. Whatever found it’s way to the cart was what he brought home. 

After watering he would do any needed upkeeping on the Mush and Blink ivy that had somehow conjoined from two opposite sides of small wooden arch he had in the backyard. His other pair, two bushes of red and white roses, grew on either sides of that arch. Mike and Ike. They reminded him a lot of how he and Charlie used to be. 

Somedays he would sit and watch Elmer, the Venus Fly Trap version of course, chomp down on whatever insect had the misfortune of climbing into his mouth. Elmer was, quite arguably, his favorite plant in the house, though he couldn’t say the same for the actual Elmer. 

Finally, when he needed a break, Jack would chill out next to Specs – his few stalks of bamboo that instantly washed him with tranquility, just like Specs would if he were sitting next to him in the moment. 

Jack was surrounded by family and friends, constantly. When some of them started to look ill, he would spend hours crying over the google search bar to try and fix them. Davey was worried it was becoming another obsession, a new thing to control, but who wouldn’t become emotional when a member of your family was dying, and you couldn’t do anything but watch? 

They didn’t die. Not this time. No, this time Jack made sure he was there. He nursed them back to health as he slowly nursed himself back to health. 

Some days were harder than others. There were days he would leave the house with a smile on his face, ready to start the day. There were some days he would leave in the same fashion but come home a few hours later, numb and emotionless. Most days Jack didn’t leave the house, but, thanks to the plants, he was able to leave his room. 

“I think you were a florist in your past life, Jackie,” Davey told him one night as they cuddled on the couch. It had been one of Jack’s better days. He only cried once in the shower, but Davey couldn’t hold that against him. 

Jack chuckled and pulled Davey closer to his chest. “That, or a real shitty gardener,” he said, but the teasing nature didn’t back those words. His mind had wandered elsewhere. 

Once, back in college, well, back when Jack was still in college, he had long since dropped out, Davey had been taking a theology class to fulfill one of his elective credits. Jack and he had been arguing about religion, about who was right and who was real and if a deity truly did exist. 

“You know, Jackie, that some religions don’t even have a God?” Davey had been sprawled out on his bed, leaning over the edge to occasionally kiss Jack or wind his fingers through his hair. 

Jack’s heart pained for those moments. To be happy and free like that, without the weight of a lost world resting on his shoulders. 

“Oh yeah? Then what’s does they have ta pray to?” Jack had scoffed, unable to comprehend a religion that didn’t involve kneeling before an idol. 

Davey chuckled, pressing his lips to Jack’s and trailing his fingers down his apple’s adam. When he pulled away, Jack was breathless. 

What he wouldn’t give to feel like that now. 

“Well, Buddhism and Hinduism believe in reincarnation. That our eternal souls live on after death, still in our world, but residing in a new vessel.” 

Jack furrowed his brow. How could that even work? That would mean no one knew would ever actually walk the other, just newly named individuals. “So, let’s say a baby is born. You’s tellin’ me that he’s already been born before?” 

Davey had laughed, so light and melodious. That laugh died alongside Charlie. It hadn’t seen the light of day in ages. “Well, technically yes, but it doesn’t just apply to human babies,” he said. 

“Animals too?” Jack chuckled. “Damn, an’ I’s thought that I’s was lost before. I mean, if that was the case, then couldn’t you’s make the argument that every livin’ thing is actually you? Since they’s don’t seem to care about, ya know, the rules of the universe.” 

It took a minute for Davey to collect his thoughts. He did so with another kiss. Back then he had been so affectionate. Everyone had always thought it would be Jack begging for another kiss. Looks can be deceiving. Just ask a seemingly healthy younger brother who suddenly collapses on his way to class. 

“No, I think they only have you in one timeline. You can’t exist at the same time as yourself. Thought, that is an interesting theory. Everything is you and, in turn, you are everything.” Davey closed his eyes, mulling it over. “You should create your own religion, Jackie. I think you’d be very popular.” 

Warm lips were on Jack’s, drawing him back to the present. They didn’t feel like they did so long ago. He kissed back. There was no power behind it. There was nothing. He couldn’t focus on kissing when their was bigger matters at hand. 

Davey pulled away, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Foolish of him to expect affection out of this relationship. “You okay, Jackie?” 

He gave a distant nod in response, already reaching for his phone, and googling reincarnation. Jack mindlessly tapped the first article that had popped up. He scrolled, ignoring Davey as he got up and stormed out of the living room. Let him be mad. Jack was trying to find his brother. 

The article was useless, about as informative as the nutrition label of a McDonald’s Big Mac. It barely scratched the surface. Just before Jack was able to click away there was a blur of movement in one of the video ads on the page. 

It was hard not to notice, seeing that it took up half the page and that it contained cute puppy after cute puppy. A bulldog, a mutt, you name it and there it was, looking for someone to save it from the shelter. 

Jack had never been one to say no to watching a cute video of dogs, so he spent the few minutes watching them prance around. A genuine smile, not the one he had been using to please Davey all day, graced his face. They were cute. Jack had always wanted a dog. 

In fact, he was close to adopting any of them. Their cute little tails and big puppy dog eyes, who could refuse that? Medda could. She had, more than once, even going as far as taking them to a shelter before telling Charlie and he that they could not have a dog. 

“Once you find that you have a connect at first meeting, that’s when you can have a dog.” She would announce in her usual dramatic fashion. 

The connection never came, at least, Jack had never felt one. Until the ad showed a Golden Retriever. It was missing a leg, but still bouncing about as happy as could be. The camera panned just as the puppy made eye contact with the camera. 

Jack’s phone slipped out of his hands and crashed to the floor. His screen shattered, no doubt about it. The noise was loud enough to have Davey sprint into the room. 

“What happened?” He was panicked, rushing over to Jack and cautiously kneeling beside him. “Is it okay for me to touch you?” 

“My phone,” he whispered, jabbing a finger at the broken phone. 

Davey picked it up, turned it over in his hands, and groaned. There were jagged cracks ruining the screen. “Really Jack? We’re short on cash as it is and now we have to pay to fix this? What have I told you about being more careful?” 

Fear flushed through Jack’s body. What if the ad was gone? What if he had merely imagined it? He gulped and with a shaky hand grabbed his phone. The screen lit up with a fractured picture of Jack, Davey, Race, and Charlie. It still worked. 

Quickly he unlocked his phone, ignoring the nags from Davey that there may be small shards of glass still on the screen. The ad was still up. The puppy was still there. He turned the phone to show Davey. 

“A dog? Really, Jackie, all this dramatics is about a dog?” Davey pinched the bridge of his nose. “We can’t afford a dog and we can’t afford to fix your phone. I refuse to let Medda shell out any more money for us.” 

Jack groaned, zooming in on the dogs face, and forcing the phone into Davey’s face once more. Fear settled in the pit of his stomach. Was he losing it? Was he so desperate that he was just making it all up? 

The frustration on Davey’s face melted into a perplexed expression. Jack’s heart began to flutter, mind racing, hands shaking. Maybe this would push them in the right direction, would mend their snapping seams. He wanted his family back and this dog would put him one step closer. 

“No way,” Davey muttered under his breath. He grabbed the phone, ignoring all the warnings he had given Jack. Do as I say, not as I do. Jack rolled his eyes. Who came up with bullshit like that? 

“I know.” 

“Jackie, regardless, we can’t afford a dog.” 

The phone was shut off and set aside. Numbness stippled Jack’s back. No, he couldn’t let this slip by so easily. “Dave, c’mon. It’s a shelter! The website said that no one wanted a three-legged dog. I’s sure he won’t be that expensive. Plus, I’s ‘ave a few commissions I’s can work on to make some extra money.” 

Davey still wasn’t convinced. “I’d just end up taking care of it and I have too much going on anyway.” He moved to stand, but Jack’s hand shout out like a viper. 

“I’s can handle it! Look –” he swept his hand in a wide arch, motioning to the plants around them – “I’s handled these just fine. They’s got me movin’ an’ proud of somethin’. He’ll give me a reason to get outta bed an’ go for walks. Please, Dave. He needs a home.” 

A home. Jack needed his house to feel like home. He was sick of wandering the hallways with reminders of what had been and could never be again. He was tired of waking up in his room and staring at the paintings he had made when days were long and happy. Jack didn’t want to feel this way anymore. He wanted Charlie back. He wanted to be happy again. 

There was a loud sigh that pushed its way through Davey’s teeth. Sounding suspiciously like a ‘fine,’ which was good enough for Jack to whoop with triumph. For the first time in ages, he rushed around looking for shoes. “Let’s go!” 

The drive was peacefully uneventful. No numbness, no sudden bursts of mania, just a faint joy that tugged at the strings of Jack’s heart every time he would turn the wheel. He made the first move to grab Davey’s hand, a nice change from always being the one to rip it away and break down in tears. 

Progress wasn’t a narrow road. It was a highway with many exits, most that took you right back where you started. Jack had learned that the hard way. Today, however, he was in the left lane going 80, without a worry. Little did he know that tomorrow he would be struggling to leave his room, if it weren’t for the little ball of fluff that was pawing at his door. 

When they had gotten to the shelter, Jack could barely form a sentence. He was shaking so badly with excitement that all he could manage was holding up three fingers. The volunteer got the message, thankfully, and lead them to the Golden Retriever’s cage. 

Upon seeing Jack it went wild. Hopping, barking, and pacing around the cage. He was as eager to go home as Jack. 

“Wow,” the volunteer said, shuffling some paperwork that Davey was signing. “He’s never been that excited to see someone. Seems like you two have a real connection.” 

Jack reached his fingers through the bars of the enclosure. A wet nose pressed against them followed by a scratchy tongue. “Yeah, I’s guess you’s could say that,” he laughed. 

Charlie’s eyes stared back at him, surrounded by a mass of golden fur and a tongue that lolled out of a drooling mouth in a big smile. Finally, Jack understood Buddhism and Hinduism. His brother wasn’t gone. 

“Have you picked out a name?” Davey asked, crouching next to Jack. 

“Crutchie.” 

Davey grinned. “I like it.” 


	9. A family dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Crutchie is weird. I can't connect with him like I'm able to with the others. I just hope I'm doing him justice. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this chapter. I had planned on it holding more information, but it turns out this book is going to be longer than anticipated. :))

As it would turn out, Charlie liked having a broken ankle. It gave him an excuse not to work himself until he was sick. Though, he still frequently got the flu and random bruises or swelling, but it was no where near as bad as when he had been practicing. 

The crutches made people talk to him more, offer to help him more. After all, he was the kid who cared so much about his high school soccer team that he broke his ankle over it. Everyone knew his name, well his nickname. Charlie couldn’t walk down the hallway without hearing a “Hey, Crutchie how’s the leg doing?” and he loved it. 

He got invited out more to actual parties, with girls. Finch would tag along, seeing that he was the only one from their small group of friends that had a decent social track record. Jack was just seen as an ass, however amusing. If Race were a year older, he would be dragged out, no doubt, but for now Specs and Elmer and he had to watch from the sidelines. 

Charlie was popular. Honest to God popular. This is what people meant when they said high school was some of the best years of their lives. He could hobble through the halls and could live like a king for a few hours. No memories of being unwanted, neglected, or anything in between. That was, until he got home. 

He had been to a friend’s house for dinner. This was a new friend, with money and two parents who loved him and a dog and siblings that were blood. Crutchie had never felt so out of place. 

“So, Charlie, how is school going?” That was a question he could answer. Simple, straightforward. No sob story involved there to make everyone tip toe around him. 

“Everythin’ is good, besides the leg,” Charlie laughed at his own expense, popping some more meatloaf in his mouth. “This meal is delicious Mrs. Smith.” 

He shot her an award-winning smile, the one that made every mother gush and wave a hand with a small “oh, you’re just a sweetheart aren’t you.” Charlie had cracked the code for making every suburban mom fall in love with him. 

The sound of cutlery clinking on cheap plastic plates carried for a while. Everyone too preoccupied with eating to carry on a conversation, and, when they did talk, it was directed towards his friends little siblings. Crutchie was glad. Without Jack here, dodging question with witty humor could only carry him so far. He didn’t have the talent of talking in circles yet still sounding like he was answering the question as the rest of his friends did. 

“Honey, that was delicious.” Mr. Smith leaned back in his chair, stretching rather loudly considering they had company. Upon hearing their father each kid fell into a serios of “Yeah, mom, thanks,” as she collected all the plates. 

Everyone just sat there while Mrs. Smith did all the work. Charlie had never been more confused in his life. He shot up out of his chair, wobbling as he put too much pressure on his bad leg, and began to help collect the dishes. “Here, I’s can help ya do’s the dishes.” 

“Oh, Charlie, that’s so sweet of you, but I got it.” 

“No, seriously. At home my brother and I’s do’s the dishes all the time,” he said. No one else, not a single one of their four kids, had gotten up to help. They were going to let their guest, with a broken ankle, do all the work. Charlie made a mental note that he wouldn’t be coming back here anytime soon. 

How could someone just take advantage like that? Having a family, a real family, gave no excuse to be entitled. 

As promised, Charlie helped wash the dishes. His crutches leaned off to the side of the counter as he did most of the elbow work, scrubbing off even the toughest stain on the casserole pan. Mrs. Smith kept insisting he sit down and let her do the work, but Crutchie refused. He felt bad for her. She had obviously put a lot of work into this meal only to be forced back into the lonely kitchen to clean it all. Was it always like this? 

He glanced at over at her as she dried the dishes. She had a skinny face, looking longer with her pale-yellow hair, going slightly gray, pulled back in a tight bun. Mrs. Smith stood like a proud mother, but her shoulders sagged slightly with lack of sleep. There were bags under her eyes but still a smile on her face. “Your mother must be so proud of you and your brother,” she said, grabbing for another plate and drying it. 

His rough scrubbing slowed to a crawl at her words. Most days, when people mention a mother Charlie would always picture Medda. In most aspects, she was his mom. Out of all the caretakers he had had Medda was the most caring, the most involved, and the most trustworthy of them all. She had raised him more in a few years than anyone else ever had. 

But today, in a house with a real family, not one stitched together by the foster care system, Charlie couldn’t help but wonder what his real mom would think of him. Did she even bother to think of him? 

“I’s sure hope she is.” Charlie smiled and went back to ferociously scrubbing at a pan, praying the conversation would end. He didn’t want to think about his mother, or the brother he didn’t have. Sure, there was Jack, but it wasn’t the same. At any moment his mother could come back, and Jack would be gone. 

They weren’t brothers. Not in the eyes of the law. Nothing would keep them together for certain besides adoption and, even then, Jack would never compare to what Charlie had witnessed tonight at the dinner table. The kids poking fun at each other and complaining about school. They did the same thing back at home, expect they didn’t have the same blood pumping through their veins that tied everything together and held them at that table. 

“Well.” Mrs. Smith rested a hand on Crutchie’s shoulder. “Even if she isn’t, I am very proud of you.” 

Charlie went home that night and cried. He didn’t bother to sob into his pillow to muffle the sound. His wails drifted throughout the house like a banshee. Medda had come in to console him once, but he just screamed at her and waved his crutch to scare her away. And, like anyone who had taken care of a “trouble child” as the foster system liked to call them, she left him alone to work out the confusing mix of emotions for himself. 

There was a knock on Charlie’s door, more than likely Medda coming back to try and take the place of a mother that Charlie never had. “Leave me the fuck alone!” He screeched, throwing a crutch at the door with a pitiful amount of force. 

“Oi, if you’s don’t cool it soon, you’s gonna be in a whirl of hurt tomorrow.” Jack poked his head in the room, scanning for anymore hurtling objects. “Medda’s real upset. Cryin’ in her room.” 

Charlie sniffled, sitting up in his bed, and whipping at his cheeks. “She is?” 

“Yeah, you’s just can’t hear her over yer bitchin’,” Jack joked, but the smile on his face dropped as Crutchie’s crying only got louder. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong.” 

He moved to the side of the bed, carefully maneuvering over the falling crutches. “Shove ova’ would ya?” Jack said as he lifted up the covers and slid in next to his best friend. He ignored Charlies groans of disapproval and kicks, with his good leg, at a desperate attempt of removing this pest from his room. “Oi! Stop it will ya. You’s got cold toes.” 

That earned a bubble of laughter from Charlie. For a moment, just a moment, it felt like old times. All those years ago when they had shared a room, a fort, everything. He missed that. 

Crutchie missed a lot of things. He missed having Race and Specs in Elmer in the same school; he missed Spot; he missed watching Jack paint on his walls; he missed doing the puzzles on the back of the cereal boxes when Medda, Jack, and him would have breakfast. 

“I’s miss us.” 

“What?” Jack asked, though he knew full well what Charlie meant. Instead, Charlie supposed, he distracted himself with beating the pillows behind him senseless as he waited for Crutchie to explain himself. “I’s is sittin’ right next to ya.” 

Charlie rolled his eyes, sometimes Jack was so thick. “Well, tonight I’s was havin’ dinner at Gavin’s house–” 

“Prick Gavin or Big Nose Gavin?” 

“Jack,” Charlie gave a small hiss of laughter at Jack’s presumptuousness. “Big Nose Gavin. Anyways, I’s was at his house an’ it was so odd. His mom was doin’ all the work, an’ no one was doin’ anythin’ to help! Like how’s can someone be such a total jag that they’s don’t wanna help their mom? So, that got me thinkin’ – don’t interrupt me while I’s ramblin’, god do you’s know common decency?” 

Jack poked him roughly in the side. “Says the one who’s insultin’ me!” 

“Long live the king.” Charlie pushed Jack so roughly his arms were pinwheeling in an effort to not fall off the bed. 

“I’s the older one, that shoulda been my line.” Jack laughed and quickly righted himself. “Plus, you’s too warm an’ fluffy to be Scar.” 

The comment wasn’t meant to be insulting. If anything, Jack meant it as a compliment, but something didn’t set well with Crutchie. He could be Scar. Hell, he _was_ Scar. Thrown out by his family, outcasted by the world, and close to ruining the only semblance of family that Charlie actually did have. 

“You’s distractin’ me from mines story.” He crossed his arms with a huff. Crutchie could be mean if he wanted to. He could. Everyone pictured him as this goofy, childish person without a single intelligent, or rude, bone in his body. That’s not who he was. If only those around him, namely Jack, could see it. 

“Oh, yes. Sorry, my bad,” Jack snickered and made a show of fluffing pillows and snuggling into a cocoon of blankets he formed out of thin air. “Don’t you’s stop on mine account.” 

This is what having a brother was like, would be like. If Charlie had one. 

“It’s just that these people has a family an’ what do they’s do? Take it for granted. I’s would kill to have a family. I’s-” tears flooded into his eyes, but Charlie didn’t cry – “There’s you an’ Medda, but it’s not the same. Gavin an’ his siblings. . . they’s got along so well. Crackin’ jokes like we’s do. They’s all look the same too. No one has to guess, they’s just knows that they’s all siblings. 

“I’s don’t know what mine’s parents look like. I’s don’t even know their names. What kinda kid doesn’t even know his own parents? It’s not like they’s would even care. Never tried to find me, never even left a way for them to find me. What kinda parents don’t want their own kid?” He was openly crying at this point. Thank god it was only Jack in this room. That was the only person Charlie would ever want to see him cry. 

It was all too much. The leg, the attention, the family dinner, the abandonment, the overwork with all these fucking clubs that removed group from his schedule. Crutchie was done. With life, with being awake, with the day; he didn’t know for sure what he was done with, but he knew that he was tired. 

Jack ruffled his brothers hair, before wrapping an arm around him. “Crutchie, Char.” Jack rubbed at his chin. It had just started to grow hair, just stubble but Charlie’s face was bare as a baby’s bottom. Another difference between the two. Another reminder that they weren’t blood. 

“I’s don’t give a rat’s ass ‘bout Gavin’s siblings. Wanna know why? ‘Cause I’s got a kickass brother of my own an’ I’s didn’t get stuck with ‘im. I’s got to choose him. You’s know how many people get to pick their own brother?” Jack shot him a grin. One Charlie couldn’t help but return, even through the tears. “Yer parents, Char, they’re not yer parents. You’s never met them. 

“There’s a reason for that. You’s was never supposed to meet them. You’s found yer place, yer family. Take it from me, knowin’ you’s real parents is even worse. I’d rather have my brother, Charlie, than a junkie Ma an’ a jail dad any day.” 

In an instance, it was like Crutchie had been transported back four years when he and Jack had moved into this house. When they chose each other. They didn’t need blood. Brothers, as it would seem, could come from anywhere. 

“I’s love you.” 

“Yeah, I’s love you too, Char.” Jack stared at him for a second before bursting out in laughter. “Are we’s those sappy siblings that spill they’s insecurities in the dead of night?” 

Charlie nodded, face breaking wide open into a grin. “I’s guess we’s are.” He clutched his side and leaned against his brother who was equally crippled with laughter. 

“Alright, Char,” Jack said, moving to leave. 

Crutchie’s hand shot out, wrapping around his wrist, and yanking softly. “No. Sleepover tonight. I’s never see you’s anymore.” 

“That’s ‘cause you’s always spendin’ time with Big Nose Gavin an’ his friend’s.” 

One look shut him up, but they didn’t spend too much time on the bad stuff. Girls spent their sleepover’s crying about their feelings. They were men, facial hair or not. Jack settled back into bed. 

“I’s met this girl,” Jack said. Apparently, they talked about crushes too. What manly men. “Her name is Kath. She’s- woo, she’s somethin’ alright. Cute, but feisty. You’s two would get along. She’s smart like you. We’s went out to a movie the other night. I’s even paid for everything.” 

“Wow, what a gentleman.” 

“Oh, shove it, would ya?” But Jack was laughing. “I’s really like her. I’m gonna ask her to be my gal. After you’s meet her, of –” 

The door swung open. Charlie’s hand flew to his eyes, blocking out the bright ass hall lights, but, before he could whine at Medda for her lack of respect, someone else spoke. 

“I’s see the fort days are behind us.” 

Jack sat up in bed. “Well, I’ll be damned.” 

Charlie peeled his fingers from his eyes. He squinted at the figure in the door way. All he could make out was a fat lip, a bruised eye, and a scattered mess of freckles, but that’s all he needed to know that his family was back together. Spot, who was still and always would be his brother, had found his way home too. 


	10. Davey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has it taken me three weeks to update this fic? Yes. Am I proud of it? No.
> 
> BUT I have a good reason. I SAW NEWSIES ON THE BIG STAGE (it wasn't that big but still) so I was waiting to get all the vibes~ and inspo from that. Plus school's been kicking my ass and i'm sick (again). 
> 
> So, I made this chapter extra long for you all and it's from the point of view from my favorite character in the show. Davey's such a sweetie. Hope you all enjoy :))

Growing up for Davey had been, by no means, an easy thing. Sure, he had it better than Jack or Crutchie, but that didn’t mean much. He was Jewish, which meant his family had more conservative views than most. 

Being gay in a conservative Jewish family was not the best combination. Being gay in the society he had grown up with wasn’t any better. Lucky for Davey he had been gay, stereotypically speaking, for as long as he could remember. 

None of his friends were male, he was more obsessed with fashion than sports, and he loved theater. Davey took pride in being different. His friends always hyped him up and stood up for him. When got pushed into lockers by the big kids while being called “gay” on a daily basis, Davey didn’t understand why. He had no clue what a “gay” was. 

Looking back on it now, he still didn’t understand why those kids had just assumed his sexuality. Sure, Davey was gay, but they hadn’t known that. They hadn’t seen him with his tongue down another boys throat and they wouldn’t until high school. 

Maybe it was that they forced him to come out, refused to let him live in the safety of pretending to be straight until he finished at his Jewish private school, that made Davey such an angry, desolate child. 

In middle school he joined sports but was never a member of the team. Anyone who tried to talk to him was either given the cold shoulder or punched in the face. This behavior didn’t bode well for Davey’s performance. On the field/court/whatever the hell he was playing on that day he would be annihilated by not only the opponents, but his own team as well. 

They would trip him, shove him, and the really ballsy ones would go as far to tackle him. Everywhere Davey looked people hated him. His own father wouldn’t even look him in the eye. 

When he finally found out what being “gay” meant at the ripe age of 12, he had ran to his mother in tears. He hadn’t known at the time, but Sarah had come out as bisexual a few months prior. Maybe it was the heartbreak of having two kids that went against everything his parents had ever believed in because his mother was livid. 

She sent him to reform camps, hoping he could “pray away the gay.” But he never hated her for that. Davey was mature enough to see she was doing out of love, to piece back their family, and have his father actually acknowledge his own son once again. No, instead Davey hated himself. 

He was the one who had made that choice, or so he thought. College was when he finally realized that it was okay to prefer kissing boys and interwinding fingers as they walked from class to class. 

It had felt different than the dates he went on in high school, where girls would kiss him, and he’d feel numb inside. The denial had been eating him upside. Kissing a guy for the first time, a freckled boy with bright red hair named Connor, had lit a fire in Davey. 

Sure, everything didn’t change overnight. He would still panic over the thought of someone seeing him kissing his boyfriend’s or holding hands and getting attacked. Family parties would consist of everyone asking if he had found a girlfriend. No, things didn’t get better, but then he met Jack. 

Even now his heart warmed at the memory of meeting Jack. Headstrong, goofy, loveable Jack who walked into his dorm at random sat down on the bed and said _“Look, I’s need ya ta help me name my friend’s bird. I’s thinks he looks more like an Egg, but he’s thinks that’s a stupid name.”_

It was love at first awkward interaction. The more Davey got to know Jack the more he longed to have the confidence of Jack. He refused to be ashamed for who he was. It took Davey a while to get there, but now, with Jack snuggled against his chest, he could self-assuredly say that he was proud to be gay. 

All he ever wanted in life was more moments like these. Where Jack is happy, and all the bad thoughts are push for his mind for a few hours. When Davey shifted, a small groan would escape his boyfriends lips, he would nuzzle closer and tighten his hold. 

“I wasn’t going anywhere. My ass just fell asleep.” 

Jack popped one eye open to gaze up at Davey. The smirk on his face, god that smirk that made Davey’s heart thunder, meant he was up to no good. “I’s can wake it up for ya.” 

“Ha. As if,” Davey said, channeling his inner Cher. A well-timed “Clueless” quote always distracted Jack and Davey needed time to work out what had just been said. 

“Seriously.” Jack pushed himself up a bit to trail kisses along his jaw and neck. “I’s can make you’s feel real good, Dave.” 

The words almost, almost, made him moan right then and there. It had been so long since Jack had last been in the mood for anything remotely sexual. Hell, Davey couldn’t even remember the last time they had cuddled like this. Between working crazy hours, fighting with Jack, and cleaning then recleaning every square inch of this place, he barely had time to breathe in between. 

“Yeah? Want to prove it to me?” 

That was all Jack needed to hear. He moved fully onto Davey’s lap, awkwardly straddling him on the couch, and placing a soft, need kiss on Davey’s plush lips. It had been so long since he had a kiss like that, days maybe even months, but this affection made the wait worth it. 

Though, affection wasn’t the right word. The peppered kisses, full of all the promises of love he couldn’t voice, had transformed into hungry movements. In an instant Jack had moved from gentle loving caresses to rough grabs at Davey’s clothed member, grinding as though he had forgotten how, and rough nips down his neck. 

“God, Jack slow down,” Davey moaned. Jack had been replaced by a ravenous beast, ripping at his clothes, and placing love bites on any piece of skin he could get his mouth on. 

Wrong move. Jack pulled away so fast he fell backwards, careening, and hitting his head on the coffee table. Not hard enough to hurt, Davey could see a different type of hurt in his eyes but not physical pain. 

God, nothing good would ever last. 

“You’s don’t love me’s anymore, huh? Is that is, Dave? I’s finally ready to have sex with you’s an’ you’s don’t even want to?” He sounded on the verge of tears. “You’s kiddin’ me right? How’s I supposed to be normal again if you’s don’t love me anymore.” 

“Jackie–” 

“Oi, don’t you’s ‘Jackie’ me.” 

Davey reached out to cup Jack’s cheek, but he flinched away before his fingers could even brush his skin. “I do love you Jack, but I don’t want you to rush into anything. You’ve been doing so well. . .” 

Jack snorted, stood up, and brushed himself off. “Fuck you’s, David. Ya know that? You’s say you’s love me but you’s won’t sleep with me? What kinda bullshit is that, huh?” 

His mind was reeling. How was he supposed to explain that Davey loved Jack so much he’d stay for 60 years of fighting with Jack than going and settling down with someone easier? Everything in his being ached for Jack, his best friend, the love of his life, to be happy. All he wanted was to brush the stubborn hairs that would stray into Jack’s eyes as he slept away until the day he died. Davey couldn’t live without Jack. He loved him and sex couldn’t even begin to explain that. 

“Really? You’s ain’t even goin’ ta say somethin’?” 

“Jack, I’m trying my best. I’ve stuck by you constantly, even as you berate me for events I can’t control. If we had sex, you’d just spend the next two weeks in bed punishing yourself for being happy while Charlie is gone, and I can’t do that to you. Okay? So don’t hate me for protecting you.” 

“Don’t say his name,” Jack snarled. 

“Why not?” Davey threw his hands up in the air. “I loved him too. He was practically my little brother too. Why do you get to be the only one who misses Charlie?” 

“Shut the fuck up, Dave!” 

“Jack I’m trying to help you–” 

“I’s don’t fuckin’ need you’s! Get the fuck outta here!” He screamed when Davey took a step in his direction. “Go away an’ keep his name outta yer mouth! I’s can’t stand you’s sometime, Dave. Tryin’ to be all high an’ mighty ‘cause you’s think you’s better than me.” 

Those words were a stab in the gut. It took everything in Davey not to double over as the wind was knocked out of him. Is that really what he thought? Surely not, that was just his anxiety or depression talking, though, no, that wasn’t right either. Jack was his anxiety and depression they were a part of him, at least, that’s what his therapist had said. His mind warped things into thinking the world was against him, part from childhood trauma Jack refused to discuss and losing his brother. 

So, why did he have to take it out on Davey, who had been nothing but supportive? 

“That’s not true Jack,” he pleaded to deaf ears. “If anything you’re better than me. You’re so strong. Braver than I can ever be. I love you so much.” 

“Oh an’ now you’s expect me’s just to break down cryin’ an’ beggin’ for yer forgiveness, right?” Jack deadpanned, glaring at Davey with a hatred that made his flesh crawl. He felt dirty, exposed. “Well go shove it up yer ass. I’s sick of lookin’ at you’s. Leave me’s the fuck alone!” 

Davey flinched, about thirty seconds away from a panic attack judging by the way his breath kept getting caught in his throat and the pounding in his ears was increasing in volume dramatically. He had to remind himself to breathe. Davey was always reminding himself to breathe. 

“Jackie, can’t we just go see the therapist again? He helped. You were so much better after seeing him. These outbursts were few and far between and the medication–” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Dave! Fuck off. I’s hate you’s! I’s hate you’s an’ that fuckin’ shrink an’ those fuckin’ pills. Just go to bed,” Jack screamed until his voice went hoarse and, realizing he couldn’t yell at a trembling Davey anymore, stormed off in the kitchen to walk exactly 32 laps with the left foot always dropping first in the center of the tile. 

The shrink said it made sense for Jack’s need to control the little things to be prominent after an outburst of violent emotion. It was how he coped with grief. Davey just wished he was welcomed enough to struggle alongside him. But, as usual, Jack isolated himself until everything ate away and he snapped; thus the cycle continued. 

Davey listened to Jack’s words. He calmed down enough to where he could catch is breathe and the pounding in his ears became a gentle hum before he climbed the steps, stopping along the way to stare at each photo of happier times, and reposition any Jack had taken down to cry over then hurl across the hall. Davey’s fingers ghosted over one with Crutchie and him. It wasn’t rare the two hung out without Jack but having photo evidence was. Usually they were too caught up whatever it was they were doing to remember to document the experience. 

Most of the Charlie that Davey remembered – the goofy one who would try and slide down railings when he had his boot or prank call pizza places to ask if their refrigerator was running – existed only in his memory. As much as Davey wanted to cry, he couldn’t risk it with Jack still angrily pacing downstairs. He’d have to escape to the safety of their – no, he was segregated once more, Jack’s room was now his, and that’s where he would go. 

They had set Medda’s old room up as the master suite. Jack couldn’t stand being in the room he grew up in for more than five minutes. Everywhere he looked he could see Crutchie. There were his painted handprints on the wall, the closet where they built a fort, and pictures of the two together. Davey didn’t blame him. It was hard to lose someone you love. 

What was even harder was to watch someone you love fall apart and be utterly useless in fixing them. 

He fell onto the bed in tears. The door had swung pathetically closed behind him, making a click almost as soft as his whimpers. Davey had liked mopey Jack better than angry Jack. Angry Jack was mean, never apologized, then got lost in a process for days at a time. Mopey Jack would just stare at walls and not leave the bed. 

Davey would rather have Happy Jack, but at this point all he could do was choose the lesser of two evils. Was he selfish for not wanting to be screamed at every day? He had no way of knowing if anything he was doing was right and the therapy sessions he went to, alone, once a week just told him to make an effort. What was the point? Davey was burnt out. 

Could he really keep this up his entire life? Deep down he knew that he could never leave Jack, but there would be a breaking point sooner than later. Davey’s biggest fear was snapping and having Jack be the one to leave. It was how he would leave that scared Davey most. 

He rolled over and fumbled with the draw of the nightstand next to the bed until slid open the velvet black box tumbled to the front, just far enough where Davey could grab it. It felt right in his hands. Not too heavy that all the breath in his lungs wheezed out, but not too light to where he questioned whether this was the right move. 

The gold band inside, complete with elegant mountains and ivy engraved onto it, had been purchased two months after Davey and Jack started dating. Four before Charlie’s health got better, before drastically declining one final time. 

Davey never had been good with timing. Every opportune moment had escaped him. The box began to burn. Jack would have never said yes anyway. He was happy, but his heart would never truly and completely belong to Davey. Part of it had been buried alongside his brother and would forever remind him that happiness, true happiness was just a fairy tale. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, rolling out of bed and slipping into the hall. Where could he stash the ring? It had been expensive so he couldn’t just toss it. The attic was too loud, Jack would know Davey had gone up there and Charlie’s room was out of the question. That was too risky. 

His eyes settled on a thin table in the hall. Jack was constantly bumping his hip against it, completely forgetting its existence, a perfect place to hide something that never should have existed in the first place. 

Davey settled back on the guest bed, now technically his bed, and closed his eyes. Concealing the wedding ring had took a lot more out of him than he expected. Sleep came easy. He hadn’t even bothered to change his clothes. Though, something deep in his gut was telling him that his short period of bliss would all end when his eyes opened next. 

Little did he know, the bliss actually ended while his eyes were closed. Davey had slept through his alarm, missed work by three hours, and was fired all in his peaceful slumber. What had woken him up, was the basement door slamming shut. 

He sat straight up in bed and squinted at the clock. The red numbers burned anxiety into his very being. 

“No! No, no, no. Oh god, please no,” he muttered, fumbling for his phone. 

The screen lit up: 42 missed calls & 75 unread texts from his boss and coworkers. The most recent text read, “David Jacobs, since you believe that tardiness is professional, you may show up late to another establishment. We no longer need your services.” 

Everything came screeching to a halt. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. Everything was blurry, though this was because he was crying. How were he and Jack supposed to survive? The last time Jack had gotten a commission was months ago and they used that to pay bills long ago. 

“Fuck!” He let out a howl of rage. His hands itched to throw his phone, all those messages, across the room to shatter against the wall. Instead, he shakily opened his phone and called the first number in his contacts. 

There was two rings and a click. Davey didn’t even bother to wait for a greeting. “I need to come over right now.” 

“Davey? Are you crying?” 

“Please, I need to get out of here for a few hours.” Davey took a deep, ragged breath. “Can you tell Specs to come over and watch Jack? He’s probably locked away in the basement painting over the same picture.” 

God, he could picture it. An unopened bottle of water and bag of chips that would sit, unnoticed, on the table. Jack would claim he was just about to eat them whenever someone came down, but one look at the painting would shed light on that lie. The layers of paint were so thick, the edges curled inwards towards the muddy brown center. Davey supposed that Jack’s mind was convinced he could fix it. Make it perfect again. 

“Jesus, did he freak out again?” 

“Look, we can talk about this later. Please, can I just come over?” 

“Of course.” Race’s response let Davey’s lung collapse with a sigh of relief. 

“Thank you so much–” 

“Specs!” Race yelled, the knucklehead still unaware the he was speaking into the phone. The receiver shot away from Davey’s ear as soon as he heard Race take another big inhale. “Can you go watch Jack for a bit?” 

There was a muffled shout that Davey couldn’t make out, but the tone didn’t sound very happy. Not that he cared. Specs could suffer through a few hours of what Davey’s life consisted of on a daily basis. Don’t get him wrong. Davey loved Jack, Race loved Jack, Specs did too, but there was only so much they could handle and, even before they lost Charlie, Jack’s breakdowns were the limit. 

“Ok, he’s on his way.” 

“I thought you two broke up.” 

“Look, we can talk about that later. Do you need me to come pick you up?” 

Fuck, he had forgotten about his license expiring. He’d been driving with it anyway, if Jack could stop giving a shit then so could he. 

“No, I’ll be fine. I haven’t gotten pulled over yet.” 

“You’re going to give me an anxiety attack. Drive safe.” 

“I’ll see you soon.” 

Soon in Davey’s language meant in ten minutes he was asking to be buzzed into Race’s apartment. He lived half an hour away. 

“Jesus Christ, you got here fast,” Race, ever the observant one of the friend group, stated the obvious as he swung the door open. “Did you run a red light or something?” 

“No,” Davey said, like a liar, as he entered Race’s place. 

If he could have picked anyplace to live, Davey would have picked Race’s apartment. It was cozy, safe. He liked safe. Even with the steady flow of mismatched furniture from the clearance section of IKEA, it looked put together. Well, almost put together. 

The sofa, more like the lack of, was a bunch of folding chairs side by side in front of a crappy television from the 90’s, like when they were kids. 

“Please tell me you haven’t been using that as a sofa.” 

“Charming, right?” That was not the word Davey would have used, but to each their own. “Don’t worry-” Race spluttered with laughter at the look of disappointment on Davey’s face- “Elmer found this super cheap orange couch on clearance, but I need $100. I’m planning to find a job soon, but these summer classes are kickin’ my ass.” 

Orange? Out of all the colors in the world, the dumbass chose orange. No wonder he was Jack’s friend. 

“I’d offer to lend you the money,” Davey sighed, walking over and sitting on the charming couch. It hurt his ass. “But I just got fired from the cafe this morning.” 

“Shit, Davey.” Race sat beside him on one of the metal chairs, wrapping him in a tight hug, and trying to formulate a thought. What were you supposed to say to someone who lost their job, their boyfriend’s little brother, and their boyfriend all in the same year? 

He didn’t say anything. Davey appreciated that. There was too much noise at home, the silence was a blessing. But the silence welcomed thoughts and Davey was scared of his mind. 

“I was going to propose.” He broke the silence, staring at the boxy television in front of him to avoid Race’s gawking. “We’d been dating throughout college, but he didn’t want you all to know because we were all friends and it would have been weird. I didn’t care. I love him. I want him to be my husband. I bought a ring, I was all set to pop the question, but then Charlie got sick again; something in my gut was telling me that he wasn’t going to make it, so I postponed proposing. Then Charlie died and Jackie- he, broke down. 

“Yesterday, he was one of his better days considering he hasn’t been on any meds. He was being Jackie again and joking around, painting, and cuddling. I almost asked, Antonio. I had the ring hidden in his old room-” Davey stopped short, a desperate attempt to swallow the lump in his throat. His life shouldn’t have to be this hard. What did he do to deserve this? 

Race put a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have get into it Davey. I believe you.” 

“I know!” He practically shouted. “Sorry, I know. It’s just- At home, there’s no one to talk to. Jack doesn’t listen anymore. He’s trapped in his head and I get it, really, but I can’t live like this. He’s constantly screaming or just ignoring me, but yesterday. Oh, it was so nice. I miss that Jackie so much. 

“We were having the best day. For a second, I thought to myself ‘is this what my future could look like?’ Happiness. Then Jack went to jump my bones and I couldn’t take advantage of him on his first good day in weeks. God, he got so mad. Screaming, yelling, telling me that I hated him, that he hated me. 

“I can’t take it anymore. If he doesn’t take his medication or go to his therapist- Antonio, he’s punishing himself and lashing out at me. When you all come over it helps, for a bit, but you’ve seen how he can get. With me it’s constantly. I can’t tell if I’m doing something wrong or if he doesn’t love me anymore. And now we don’t have any income. He refuses to leave the house and I just got fired. How are we supposed to live?” Everything was so loud. Davey could hear himself breathing, hear Race breathing. He could hear the blood pumping through his veins and his foot tapping nervously on the floor. 

Race, the last person he should ever come to for advice, save maybe Elmer, opened his mouth to act as a makeshift therapist. “Just take it one day at a time, one hour at a time. Davey, you love him. Losing Crutchie isn’t something he can just get over in a day and I know that you know that, but in the moment, people forget that.” 

What the hell was going on in the world? Was Mercury in retrograde? Davey hadn’t checked his horoscope lately, but last time he did he distinctly remembered, in big bold letters, a heading that read: Antonio Higgins will never give good advice. Yet, here he was, preaching. 

“Look, all I’m saying is that you have to be by his side. Thick and thin. Which you are, and that’s wonderful, but I’m talking in therapy too. Force him to go. It’s probably not right, he’ll probably be mad, but seeing someone and talking to someone will help. Go and sit with him, even if he just mopes the entire time. We can look for a job together. I mean c’mon you have a whole group of people ready to help you.” 

Tears flooded Davey’s eyes, because of Race’s words of all things. “You’re my best friend.” 

“Oh, shut up for a minute and calm down. It’ll mean more when you say it and not shitting your pants.” 

Once the rushing waves of blood in his ears silenced and he could inhale without shaking, Davey turned to face Race. He’d just unloaded years of secrets he’s been carrying around to his best friend, the person he tells everything to. 

“You’re my best friend.” 

“I knew it would sound better once you weren’t flippin’ out. Also, thank you.” Race grinned at him. 

“For what, admitting I like you more than most of the others?” 

“No, because the guys and I had a bet going on for when you two would finally get together. I said you’ve always been a thing and Jackie-Boy didn’t want to tell us. You just helped me win that $100.” 

They stared at each other for a beat, before doubling over in laughter. If someone walked in, they’d think Davey and Race were certifiably insane, what, sitting on a folding chair sofa – soon to a burnt orange – and laughing so hard over a joke that wasn’t even that funny. 

He wiped a tear from his eye. “I don’t know how you guys didn’t figure it out sooner.” 

Race simply shrugged. “That’s just how Jack has always been with us. He’s an affectionate person, so we assumed that you were just a pal.” 

Davey snorted. Yeah, pals that suck each other’s dicks. 

“Why was Specs over earlier?” Davey asked, changing topics. He figured that if he just bared his soul the least Race could do was return the favor. “I thought you two broke up.” 

“We did.” 

Ah, thank you Race for the deep, insightful conversation. Davey rolled his eyes but kept his tone genuine; it wasn’t fair to take his anger on the world out on his best friend. “Doesn’t that make your friendship weird, though?” 

“Not really. We’ve always been close. Now we’re just friends who fuck every now and again.” 

“Oh.” Davey blinked at him, he wasn’t expecting that. “Weren’t you dating someone from Tinder?” 

“Oh! Yeah, JoJo and I have been casually seeing each other. He wants to make it official, but I don’t want to let go of Specs just yet. Today we were supposed to have our deep conversation, but that can wait. We have bigger problems, like being jobless. We should probably figure that out.” 

Davey leaned over and wrapped Race in a big hug. Maybe it was enough to have a friend in this big bad world. Things were finally looking up. 


	11. A goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> longer chapter because spot is my baby and i'm a slut for some soft spot,,, plus I never see anything of Crutchie and spot being friends and that makes me :(((
> 
> also bonus points if you pick up on the Paper or Plastic Easter egg I planted. it's lowkey obvious as shit but I wanna geek out about parallels with someone in the comments

Having Sean home was odd. No- it wasn’t Sean anymore, he kept forgetting that. Everyone called him Spot now. Charlie had thought it was because of the sunspots dusting every square inch of his face and arms and legs, but Jack heard from a kid at his high school that Spot got the nickname because of the dark hickies he would leave on anyone he kissed. 

Crutchie knew what a hickey was, he just didn’t know what was so great about a bunch of bruised cells. How could that possibly feel good? Same with kissing. He’d never been kissed, probably would go his whole life without knowing what it was like to kiss someone. Girls just didn’t seem to like him. 

He was the nice guy. The one everyone felt safe around, like there was no pressure to be in a relationship. Good for them, but Crutchie was left without a girl who liked him as anything more than a friend. Kind of a damper when your entire friend group was getting into relationships left and right. 

Jack and Katherine had been dating for a couple months now, but they bickered like an old married couple. Finch had found a girl in the forest – still the weirdest story out of the friend group to date. The only one who didn’t have a girlfriend was Elmer and that’s because he just slept around. Crutchie didn’t understand it, but who was he to judge? 

Spot was single too. He didn’t sleep around, as far as Jack’s source could tell. It was strictly make out sessions. So, that had to count for something. 

At least, that’s what Charlie kept telling himself. 

“Oi, Crutchie,” Spot said as he walked into the kitchen, he had taken to using his nickname as well. “Yer cereal’s soggy. C’mon we got a bus to catch.” 

“Well, it’s not my fault someone woke up too late to make my pancakes,” he grumbled, dumped his cereal, and shambled out the door with Spot. 

That was their ritual. They caught the bus to take them downtown and part ways at the last stop. Jack always got picked up by Katherine. Her dad had money, and let her use it; Medda had money, but she also had three boys and them plus money was a recipe for disaster. 

“Are you’s back for good?” Charlie asked as he hobbled to the bus stop with Spot. His crutches were digging into his armpits, as usual, and his back was aching, even with Spot carrying his backpack. Everything simply ached, deep into his bones. He was so tired all the time, physically but also in getting his hopes up. What if Spot just left again? What would he do then? 

Spot shrugged. “Dunno, I’s think I’ll be here the last two years of high school for sure, but my Ma might be sober enough again soon to take me’s back.” 

“What about your dad?” 

“I’s don’t wanna go back there.” He tugged on the sleeves of his hoodie, pulling them down as though they would swallow his entire arm, but that didn’t matter Charlie had already seen what was scarred into them. Cigarette burns. 

He didn’t blame him for not wanting to go back. 

“Then get Medda to adopt ya. Cowboy says we’s real close to gettin’ adopted. I hope so, then we’d really be brothers!” He rambled on about Medda being the sweetest mother ever, as if Spot had never lived with her before. 

And he let Charlie speak, sentences blurring into one big mass of words while the bus pulled up. If he told him to shut up, then there was a good chance Crutchie would never say a word to him again. Hell, he was still scared to try and take his plate when Spot still wasn’t finished eating and that breakdown – no, the technical term would be incident – had happened years ago. 

They had a unique relationship. Unlikely friends but not in the way Jack and he had become friends, best friends, brothers. No, Crutchie and Spot were polar opposites in every way. Charlie was the sun, beaming and bringing warmth to everyone around him, whereas Spot was a rain cloud, cold and dreary in most people’s opinion. Each beautiful in their own way but together would never seem to mesh just right. 

Some people had never seen a sun shower though. When the time was right, and Spot wasn’t too gloomy, it could be be beautiful. 

And they were, beautiful. 

Maybe it was just the optimist in Crutchie, his need to see the good in everyone, that made him give Spot a hundred chances. He’d made him cry more times than he could count, but Charlie would always forgive him and for good reason. People change. Spot was no exception. 

This wasn’t the same kid Charlie had first met when he’d arrived at Medda’s. That kid never would have given him so much as a second thought, and yet, here he was making Crutchie pancakes and singing his heart out to “I Want It That Way” by The Backstreet Boys and occasionally belting “Dancing Queen” by Abba. 

The worst part about it wasn’t even the song choices, no it was because Spot had a decent voice. Sure, he was no Frank Sinatra, but he could carry a tune well enough to distract Charlie from whatever he was doing and dancing the best he could with the crutches. No matter what song, what genre, Spot could rock it. 

And he was. Singing and making everyone in the house a different type of pancake. Even though that meant waking up early and preparing four separate batters. Charlie’s was always made second to last, right before Spot’s own, so it would be the warmest. 

“I’s has a song request!” Jack screamed from his room, ruining Spot’s current rendition of “I Will Always Love You” by Whitney Houston. Why he was doing a song so far out of his range, Crutchie would never understand, but Spot did as he please and there was no reasoning with someone as stubborn as him. 

Spot flipped a pancake. Golden brown. Charlie was convinced he was sent by God. The days of choking down Jack’s burnt everything were over. Just seeing the pancake, even though he had seen it every day for the past month of Spot being back, brought tears to his eyes. 

“Well, what is it? You’s just ruined the best part!” Spot yelled back, angrily depositing the pancake onto Charlie’s plate. “Chocolate banana, whip cream is in the fridge.” 

He heaved himself out of the chair and hobbled over to get it. “Thanks.” 

Spot simply grunted. Ah, brotherly love. 

Jack popped his head in the kitchen, dripping wet with a towel around his waist. “All Star, by Smash Mouth.” 

The song had come out a few weeks ago and Jack had found it by chance. It took a matter of thirty minutes for him to memorize the lyrics. Now, that’s all he wanted to listen to. 

“I’s knows who fuckin’ sings it.” 

“Yeah, you’s is gonna.” 

“Says who?” 

“Says me.” 

“If you’s think I’s singing that song just so you’s can join in an’ butcher it-” 

“Hey! I’s a great singer.” 

Spot snorted. “Sure.” 

“Why I outta-” 

“Hey, Jack?” 

“Yeah, Crutch?” 

Charlie pointed his fork to Jack’s bare feet, distracting him from his anger for a moment. “You’s is makin’ a puddle.” 

“Who’s dripping water all over my hardwood?” Medda’s voice rang out from upstairs. “It better not be you, Jack Kelly, because I will have you cleaning this house for a month.” 

Jack’s eyes bulged out of his head and he took off towards the stairs, tripping over the towel as he went. There was a loud crash, followed by a few slightly less loud crashes, and then more scrambling as Jack recovered. 

“Has I’s ever mentioned that you’s is my favorite?” Spot laughed from his place at the stove. He was making another chocolate banana pancake for Charlie, who’s mouth was watering, and he had barely made a dent in the first one. 

It was Charlie’s pancake flavor. No one else was allowed to eat it while Spot was in the house, or if they went out to eat. He claimed that it was because no one would appreciate the flavors as much as Charlie. Medda told Crutchie it was because his mom would always make him those pancakes growing up and those were his favorite memories; he was trying to pass those happy feelings along to Crutchie. 

He smiled at the short boy making pancakes in his pajama’s and bopping around to the song he was humming. “You’s don’t have ta. I’s got a fifth sense.” 

Spot turned to look at him through squinted eyes. “What the fuck did you’s just say?” 

“I’s got a fifth sense.” 

“Yeah, you an’ the rest o’ the world.” 

Charlie blinked. What in the hell was he talking about? There was sight, smell, taste, touch, and hearing. . . “Oh shit,” he giggled. “I’s guess you’s right.” 

Spot turned back to the stove, shaking his head, but Crutchie could feel the smile on his face. “So what does this _sixth_ sense of yer’s do?” 

“It’s in my leg. Tells me’s what the weather’s gonna be.” 

“And?” 

He popped a bite of pancake into his mouth and grinned. “And that I’s is yer favorite.” 

“Oi! Why ain’t I hearin’ any ‘All Star?’” Jack said, walking into the kitchen fully clothed this time. 

It was Charlie’s turn to groan. “Does we really gotta?” 

But the complaining was useless, by the time Medda got downstairs to herd them all out the door, Spot and Crutchie to the bus and Jack to Katherine’s car, they were all screaming the lyrics at the top of their lungs and dancing about between bites of pancakes. 

Just like any other morning. 

That night, that was where things began to fall apart. 

Dinnertime start as it usually did. Charlie and Jack were sitting in the living room, face practically pressed against the television watching a rerun of “Full House.” Why they would ever take a show like that off the air still boggled Jack’s mind. The only reason Crutchie knew was because every five minutes Jack would mutter, “Who the hell let this be taken off the air?” 

Every time he asked there would be a loud groan from the kitchen courtesy of Spot, then bickering would ensue between the walls and it would take Crutchie complaining loudly overtop their yelling to once again bring focus to the show. Needless to say, they only watched about a quarter of any episode. 

“Jack, honey, go set the table,” Medda called out during a particularly tense scene. DJ was developing an eating disorder and Jack just had to relive it for the 300 hundredth time. 

“Why’s can’t Charlie do it?” He groaned, flinging the remote at Charlie. 

Thankfully he was able to catch it before it made contact. The last thing he needed was another bruise. All Crutchie did anymore was bruise. His legs were littered with them and most of the time he couldn’t figure out where he’d gotten them. His relief was short lived; Jack pushed him off the couch, went to go set the table, then thought better of it and helped Crutchie back onto the couch. 

“Because he’s still in that stupid boot for the next few weeks.” He could hear Medda’s sigh from here. “Really such an inconvenience.” 

Charlie laughed. “Wow, really feeling the love today.” 

“Don’tcha worry, Crutchie. I’s love’s–” 

Knocking cut off the first time Spot would have ever admitted to loving his brother, out loud to someone other than Crutchie. A pang of jealously shot through him, grabbed at his heart. That envy was quickly replaced with fear. 

The rapping became a loud pounding. Too loud. The scary kind of loud that sent chills down Crutchie’s spine at the memories of bad foster parents beating on his door late at night. 

Medda appeared in the threshold of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a stained apron around her waist. There was fear in her eyes. Jack and Spot appeared behind her. 

“Stay here.” 

For once, they listened. Almost too well. No one breathed. No one moved. All eyes were on the door. On Medda. She swung it open. 

There was a man, being restrained by two other men, and one last man. That last one, he was holding out a piece of paper or an envelope, the details escaped Crutchie as soon as Spot opened his mouth and broke the rules and stepped forward. 

“Dad?” 

Medda didn’t give time for a response. She took the letter, thanked the men, and shut the door. 

“What’s it say?” Jack asked, motioning to the envelope, the paper, the death note, whatever it was. 

Silence. Then the ripping of paper and the rustle of pages. 

Medda looked up at the three. Somehow Spot’s hand had found its way into Charlie’s. He squeezed and got one in return. 

“Sean, your dad is asking for full custody. The court’s going to give it to him.” 

Charlie’s hand was vacant. Footsteps hurried to the bathroom. He could hear Spot retching into the toilet. Then, the oven timer went off. 

“At least, he’ll be hungry.” Jack’s joked landed flat. 

Tough crowd. 

\---

Medda pushed the asparagus around on her plate with a sigh. Charlie mimicked her movements, as if though that would allow him to see what she was thinking. It didn’t. 

“No,” she finally said after a long moment’s deliberation. “The decision has been made by the court. It’s out of my hands now.” 

“Isn’t this shit illegal? Not let you’s know about it?” Jack threw his fork down on the table and pushed away his plate. “Can’t we sue?” 

Medda shook her head. “They mentioned it, but never confirmed it would go through. Jack, really, the dramatics aren’t necessary and what good would suing do? We’d get money, not custody.” 

“Don’t I’s get a say in what I’s want? It’s my fuckin’ life, ain’t it?” Spot slammed his hands down on the kitchen table, causing Charlie to jump and sloshing water out of the rattling glasses. “Medda, don’t make me go. I’s don’t wanna live with him.” 

Crutchie’s eyes shot across the table to Medda. Her eyes looked sad, droopy, and he knew what she was going to say before her mouth was even open. “Baby, you know I would keep you if I could, but you’re only 16. He’s your biological father and whatever he wants trumps your wants and mine.” 

“So that fact that the fucker was hurtin’ ‘im means nothin’?” Jack piped up. The table cloth was clenched in his white-knuckled fists. Tension wafted through the room at the mention of the abuse. Spot, already short, visibly shrank into himself more with a whine. “This is bullshit!” 

Medda sighed, a hand going up to her forehead, and desperately pleaded with the boys, “Please, stop cussing. We’ll figure it out. I won’t have them hurting one of my boys.” 

Crutchie kept his mouth shut, knowing that if he were to open it only tears and sobs would spill out; let them do all the shit talking. If only it were that easy. That their complaining could solve this whole mess. Keep Spot here, home. 

A week. That’s all he had to spend with his brother. Crutchie could feel his heart sinking faster and faster by the minute. The wine-colored tablecloth in front of him was steadily becoming more and more blurry as he thought of Spot and his suitcase walking out the door for a second time in this life time. 

“It’s not fair.” Jack was crying now; his voice was raw. And when Charlie finally had the composure to look up without crying himself, he could see the fresh tears shining in everyone’s eyes. 

“Hey,” he said, voice bubbly as he could make it without sounding too forced. “They’s let ya come back once Spot. If Jack bitches at them enough, I’s is sure they’d get so fed up they’s let ya come back again.” 

“Oh, Charlie dear don’t you start swearing too. You all are going to give poor ole me a heart attack,” Medda chuckled, but reached over and pinched his cheek. 

Ever so slowly, Charlie’s light began to peek through the dark clouds of tension. Spot’s tears were stowed away for later, where Crutchie would hear him sob himself to sleep and say nothing, because there was nothing, he could say to change the fact that Spot was leaving and would never be the same, happy Spot again. 

Jack let out a bellow of laughter. “Ya know what, Spot? Charlie’s right, you’s ‘ll be back in no time. Let’s make it a good not-last week.” 

\---

“God, what a fuckin’ horrible week,” Jack groaned and slammed the door to his room. Charlie and Spot were already lounging about, waiting for him to get home. His hair was sticking out in every direction and the rims of his eyes were red. 

Spot noticed, Crutchie could tell by the way his eyebrows furrowed, but he wasn’t about to ask what happened. He was a storm cloud these past few weeks. “Ya know, I’s don’t see how it’s fair you’s got yer own room an’ I have to share with Crutchie.” 

Jack let out a frustrated groan and grabbed a paint brush lying on his dresser to hurl at Spot. It hit him right between the eyes. “Nice shot,” Spot said, rubbing at his forehead, which only made Jack groan louder. Charlie rolled his eyes, he just had to make everything worse. 

“What’s eatin’ at ya, Cowboy?” Crutchie asked, hanging around Spot all the time had rubbed off on him. 

It seemed like nothing could go right in their lives. At every corner something bad was lurking, waiting to pounce, and destroy what futile happiness they could collect. It was Spot’s last night with them. Hopefully not the last time he would ever see them, but there was a bad feeling nagging at Crutchie all day. 

He could feel it as he did the dinner dishes a few hours earlier. That gut instinct told him the next time he saw Spot would mean bad news for one of them, and his gut hadn’t been wrong before so what reason did it have to lie to him now? 

“My Ma just went to jail, like for real this time.” 

“Oh shit- Cowboy, I’m sorry.” Spot was fumbling but trying. Crutchie, despite the bad news couldn’t help but feel jealous. He’d never know what it was like to bond over traumatic parents. 

“Save it, Conlon. I’s ain’t in the mood,” Jack growled, stopping over, and plopping himself in between the two. 

He landed right on Charlie’s bad leg. Didn’t even apologize, not that Charlie blamed him, but just because he was in a bad mood didn’t mean he had to take it out on everyone else. Hopefully, he’d grow out of that. 

“What happened? I thought she was clean?” Crutchie asked and shifted so his throbbing leg was pulled out from under Jack’s body weight. Everything was achy, he didn’t feel too good. Hadn’t for a while, but that was nothing compared to Jack and Spot’s pain. 

Jack snorted and rolled his eyes, before covering them and their tears with his hands. “Sober, yeah, but not clean. Dumb bitch went an’ started sellin’ meth to kids our age. What kinda fuckin’ idiot goes an’ pulls shit like that when she’s got a kid of her own to worry about. . .” he trailed off, the heavy realization hitting all of them that she never really cared. 

Though, they must have already known that. Charlie certainly did. The sixth sense in his leg told him back when they’d first met, when the achy feelings started. He just liked to pretend that everything was okay for a little while longer than he probably should. 

“Damn,” Jack said. 

Yeah, damn. 

Charlie grabbed his hand. “You’s got us–” Spot snorted- “for tonight an’ then you’s has me ‘til Spot gets back.” 

“If I’s get back.” 

“Oi.” Jack hit him lightly on the arm. “Don’t go sayin’ shit like that.” 

Silence fell over the boys. What else was there to say? The implications were clear, to Charlie at the very least. Spot would leave, maybe forever, and Jack would be eligible for adoption with both biological parental figures out of the pictures. 

“Sean, honey? Are your things packed?” Medda called up from the bottom of the stairs. 

The air was sucked out of the room. It was time. 

Spot grabbed his two suitcases at the top of the stairs with a sad smile. 

“What?” Charlie asked as he came up alongside him. Jack was refusing to leave the room. 

“When I’s first got here I’s could fit everythin’ in half a trash bag.” 

“I remember that,” Medda said, ascending the stairs to take a bag from Spot. “The first thing we did was go shopping and you only bought two more hoodies.” 

“My favorite hoddies.” Spot rolled his eyes, but his smile was genuine this time. Not a hint of sadness, at least not until Crutchie almost tripped over his boot and tumbled down the stairs. “Woah, I’s ain’t even gone yet don’t go doin’ anythin’ drastic.” 

“Sean.” Medda had a warning tone. “Those jokes aren’t appropriate.” 

He didn’t apologize. Him and Charlie were too busy trying not to die laughing. Spending all his time around Jack and Spot had given Crutchie a dark sense of humor. Even in the face of Spot leaving they’d still find something totally wrong to laugh about. 

“I’s gonna miss you, Sean.” 

“Me too.” Jack was at the top of the stairs. Looks like he had a heart after all. 

Spot’s smile only got bigger, which made Charlie’s heart soar. If he was going to leave, then it would be a joyful send off. “You’s two are the best brotha’s I’s could ever ask for.” 

“Aw, don’t go getting’ sappy.” 

“Oi, shut up Jack. I’s ain’t above beatin’ you’s.” 

“Alright, Charlie and Jack out on the porch. I want to say goodbye to my boy.” Medda shooed them out. 

They talked for a while, because Crutchie and Jack were out bumming on the front steps for ten minutes. The smile was gone on both of their faces when they came outside to join them. Saying goodbye to the best mother on the planet would do that to a person. 

One last hug. First for Jack. Then a tight squeeze around Crutchie. It was a quick hug, as were most of Spot’s hugs. That just made it hurt more. Tears prickled at Charlie’s eyes. He couldn’t cry. Well, he could but Spot was being tough so he could too. 

“See ya soon.” 

Spot didn’t say anything. He’d done all his talking earlier. Jack hugged him next and whispered something in his ear. Spot said something back to him. Of course. Even if Crutchie was the favorite, that didn’t mean anything. 

Just like that it was over. Spot was making his way down to the car with the social workers. Why did he have to go? Why was life so cruel to the kids who deserved it least? 

Charlie waved. Spot didn’t. He just got into the car and stared at the seat in front of him. The door slammed closed and the car shot off down the street. 

Maybe if Charlie had known then what he would have known a few years down the line he would’ve made more of an effort to say goodbye. After all, this was one of the last times he’d ever see Sean. 

He had a few more years, a hospital visit or two, a party to attend, and that would be where the memories of one of his favorite person ends. Crazy when you really think about it. How he had, what, maybe seven or eight more meetings with his brother before it was all over? 

But he didn’t know that. All Crutchie thought he knew was that Spot would be back in a week tops and they would have their whole lives’ ahead of them. 

A week later Crutchie and Jack got adopted. It wasn’t the same. Sean wasn’t there. His body hurt and he was coming down with a real nasty case of the flu. 

Slowly, but surely, Charlie was becoming a rain cloud. 


	12. Jack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Ok so this update took longer and it's bad so I apologize but ya girl has been struggling with her mental health and sometimes doesn't see the point of even writing this so I sat down and forced myself to write it. Not my best work, sorry. 
> 
> But it's done and I hope you enjoy this chapter anyway :)

“So, you’re doing better?” 

The question had hung in the air for a few minutes. Lingering like the stale smoke of cigarettes Race had stolen from his aunt and they had passed around kids. It had made him gag then, and Jack still heaved at the thought of it now. Maybe that would be his new destructive pastime. 

But that would just mean he wasn’t doing better, and Jack couldn’t sit through any more of these 60-minute therapy sessions twice a week. They were sucking the life out of him. Well, what he had left of it. 

“Yes, we are.” Davey had answered, though they all knew the question had been meant for Jack, the reason they were even in the shrink’s office in the first place. “Isn’t that right, Jackie?” 

No response. He hadn’t responded for the three months they’d been going. Jack had been dragged into this office kicking and screaming. If he was going to talk, then it would be on his own terms. 

His shrink sighed, but it wasn’t judgmental. She was different than the last therapist Jack had had. The other guy was old, bald, and apathetic. Dr. Smiley, he couldn’t ever remember her name and learning her name would only mean Davey won, was young and kind and involved. 

Jack’s past experience with psychologists didn’t usually involve weekly check-up emails, that went straight to the trash bin without being opened. _“Look on the bright side, Jackie.” Davey said every time he fished the email out of the trash to read and respond. “At least someone besides me and the gang are trying. That’s got to count for something.”_ It didn’t. And Jack made sure to tell him so. 

“How’s your job going, David? Has it relieved any stress from your life?” Dr. Smiley asked. She had that polite smile on today. Not her usual grin that was excited to help. 

Jack chuckled to himself. Hopefully he was finally wearing her down. Then they could be done with this stupid process. There was only so many times one man could refuse to let them pump him full of medication. There was nothing wrong with him. Charlie died and some fucking pills wouldn’t do anything to bring him back. 

“It’s good!” Jack flinched, too enthusiastic Dave she’ll know you’re faking. “The pay could be better, but it pays the bills and puts food on the table for us and the dog. I’m trying to get our friend hired right now, since I’m being promoted soon.” 

The beaming grin on his face almost made Jack’s heart skip a beat. When was the last time he had made Davey smile like that? Months, probably. Most days the smile came across for a fifth of a second before Jack goes and screws it up again. 

God, he couldn’t do anything right. 

What Jack could do exceptionally well was zone out. So, that’s exactly what he did. For quite a bit he studied the bumps of the wall or watched the second hand on the clock tick slowly around, once, twice, three times until he stopped counting and was just staring. 

Daydreaming was better than this stuffy office. It didn’t have a single house plant or dog hair or the memories of crutches faintly tapping on hardwood floor. This wasn’t home, so Jack didn’t see any reason in being here. 

Home was the only place he wanted to be, needed to be. The closer to home, the closer to Crutchie, and the closer to Charlie, the less it felt like he was gone. But he was gone. He was dead and Jack was alive. 

There was nothing he could do about it then slowly waste away himself and, no matter how hard he tried, Jack would always find himself crammed onto this ugly green couch pressed up too close to Davey and watching as the second hand on the clock slowly ticked once, twice, three times until he stopped paying attention. 

In his daydreams, Jack could do whatever he wanted. He could be anyone he wanted. So, he was always Charlie’s brother, and not that shit about being adopted. No, they were real brothers with real parents in the same house they’d grown up together in real life. Crutchie was there, the big slobbery mess of a dog, bounding around on three legs like a champ. 

Sometimes Davey would be there. He and Jack would cuddle and talk about everything and nothing all in one conversation, just like old times. He missed those days. What he wouldn’t give to have one without the madness slowly leaking in and drowning out his sanity. But Charlie was dead, and he couldn’t bring himself to enjoy life when his little brother couldn’t. 

If only Davey would leave him to waste away in that house. If only he didn’t love Jack so much. If only they had never met. That would have made everything easier. 

“. . . Jackie. . .” 

The call of his name tugged at his strain of consciousness. No, he couldn’t let this one slip away. Davey was beaming. Not because of Dr. Smiley asking him a question and genuinely wondering about the answer, but because Jack had made a smart-ass comment. Why didn’t he make those anymore? 

Charlie surely wouldn’t mind if he made a quip or two. Back when he was alive, they were his favorite thing in the world. Jack would have him in stitches. 

“. . . Jack . . .” 

Damn, there it was again. That tug. Their time must be up. Thank god. Tuning back into the conversation, Jack realized they weren’t talking to him; they were talking about him. Right in front of him. 

“I’ve been meaning to go get my license again, but having Jack drive me to work gives him a reason to leave the house.” 

Dr. Smiley nodded. “That makes sense. Do you think having him leave the house has been helping him improve?” 

“Well, his temper has become unbearable. Everything I do is wrong, so I spend most days at work. When Jackie is having one of his better days it’s like Charlie had never even passed away–” 

He couldn’t take it anymore. Talking about him was one thing, but pretending Charlie had never even died? Just forgetting? “I’m sorry, what the fuck is this?” 

Dr. Smiley startled at the sound of Jack’s voice. They both seemed to have forgotten that he was here. Quickly, she composed herself. “What do you mean by that?” 

“No, you’s don’t get ta do that whole askin’ questions ta get me ta ask questions ta force me’s ta answer my own questions. Yer gonna just tell me what the fuck is goin’ on. Why is I’s even here? What’s the point?” 

“Jack.” Davey’s tone was admonishing, if a bit shaky. His eyes kept shifting nervously over to Dr. Smiley, who never lost that polite smile. Though, now it seemed a bit more genuine. 

“Don’t worry. This kind of communication is good,” Dr. Smiley said, shifting so she was leaning forward towards Jack. “Do you want me to be honest with you?” 

What was that saying? _Ignorance is bliss._ Piss on that. “Give it ta me straight.” 

“You’re here because your boyfriend and your friends are concerned. You tend to display symptoms of major depression disorder as well as higher rates of aggression after the loss of your brother, Charlie. Davey tells me that you often spend days in bed, is that right.” 

Jack gave a sharp nod. Of course he did. What was he supposed to do? Get out of bed, get dressed, and carry on with life as though everything were fine, and his brother hadn’t wasted away in front of his eyes. 

“But on days you aren’t in bed then you’re experiencing high bouts of mania that, if interrupted, cause you to lose your temper. Now, you haven’t been physical, but from what your friends tell me, the words you use are rather. . . inappropriate to say to those who care most about you. You also seem to exhibit signs of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. 

“This could be your brains attempt at rationalizing the loss of control you had over the past few years. I’ve come to understand they all see you as a leader, and you’re used to being in charge and keeping everyone safe, but Charlie’s condition was out of your control. So, you’re here because it’s my job to help you see that. There’s no reason to keep punishing yourself for something out of your control.” 

Parts of that made sense. Other parts didn’t. “What the hell is Obsessive-whatever or another? That sounds bad, like I’s is broken.” 

Dr. Smiley was back to her usual grin. The one that made sure Jack knew how excited she was to help him. 

“It’s a mental disorder in which your brain has uncontrollable thoughts and behaviors and makes you repeat them over and over.” 

“Oh.” That part made sense too. “Like when I’s has ta walk ‘round the island 33 times or else it don’t feel right?” 

“Exactly. Now, it might just be a byproduct of your complicated grief, or you could have a genetic predisposition that was triggered by the loss of your brother. We don’t know for sure, but what I do know is that Davey loves you and wants you to get better. I want you to get better too.” 

Huh. That’s not how his last shrink had been at all. 

“Is it legal for you’s to be tellin’ me all this?” 

Dr. Smiley laughed. “I like all my patients to understand what they’re going through. You have a right to your own mind and body.” 

Jack liked her. He liked her so much that when it was time for therapy there was no more kicking and screaming. 

She convinced him to try medication again. Low doses because Jack didn’t want to feel numb again. The high doses had always made him feel numb, hopeless, like everything was falling apart and he couldn’t feel it. Jack wanted to, _needed,_ to feel it. Not all at once. 

Just an anti-depressant and something for the obsessive-whatever or another. It helped. Really, really helped, not that he would tell anyone. But he was smiling more and taking trips out of the house more, hell he even cracked a joke over dinner the other night that had Davey beaming. 

Nothing happened overnight, there were still days he couldn’t get out of bed or would slip into pacing back and forth around the kitchen exactly 33 times, but something still happened and Jack _felt_ it. Happiness. That’s what it was called. So familiar, yet still so foreign. It felt like a lifetime ago that Jack could confidently answer that he was happy. 

Everything was going great. For the first time since Charlie died Jack felt like he could live his life guilt free. Davey helped him sign up to complete community college. A few of the credits from his 4-year university could transfer over and that would put him on track to graduate in a little over a year. 

“Think of it as a goal to reach,” Davey said. “Then take it one day at a time.” 

They were sitting at the kitchen table, squinting at a laptop, and registering him for classes. They didn’t have the money for it. Not right now, with a dog and meds and therapy and Davey going to school and the house, but Jack insisted he’d figure it out. 

He always ended up figuring things out. 

They kept scrolling through the list of classes. “How in the fuck do you’s take an art class online?” Jack snorted, nudging his boyfriend in the side. That pulled a smile from Davey, the big beaming one that told him everything was okay again. 

Davey shook his head, laughing. “I haven’t the foggiest idea.” He checked his watch. “Oh shit, I have to get ready for work. Can you handle the rest of this without me?” 

No. “Yeah, I’s can figure it out.” 

Later he’d ended up so stressed out that Davey would come home from work and find him in the basement mixing paint only for it to not turn out perfect or not be mixed the correct number of times so he would mix and remix and mix for hours on end. 

“Hey? Ain’t you’s already at 30 hours this week? Don’t you’s got homework an’ class?” Jack shut the laptop, he didn’t want Davey to see him struggle. He’d already seen him struggle enough. 

Davey turned to look at him. There were dark purple bags under his eyes and days old stubble across his face. It was like he hadn’t slept in years, but Jack saw him take sleeping pills every night. Not that they did anything, but still, he didn’t think it had gotten this bad. Jack had to blink a few times to make sure he wasn’t losing it, but that was Davey. Aged twenty years in the past year. 

“Shit, Dave. When was the last time you’s slept?” 

Davey shrugged. “I got a couple hours last night. Look, I’m running late, babe, when I get home, I’ll do my homework and go to bed early.” 

Lies, they both knew it, but that was just what they did. Tackle one issue at a time. So Jack just nodded and smiled. “Okay. Love ya.” 

He said that a lot now. Always the first one to say it, the first one to hold hands, the first one to go in for a kiss, or the first one to drag the other into the shower with him early in the morning. Jack was pushing himself too hard some days, he knew that, but the smile on Davey’s face to be loved again. Sometimes the relapse felt almost worth it. 

Almost. 

It still sucked because then it was as though all the hard work had been for nothing. He would scream at Davey and cry or get so far trapped in his mind that he’d find himself tapping on the door of Crutchie’s room for hours on end or he simply wouldn’t get out of bed. But the relapses didn’t last long. Not close to two years long. How long was the normal grieving process supposed to take anyway? 

It didn’t matter. Jack was better. 

He was going to college again and out to hang out with Spot or Race or Elmer. He and Davey would cuddle again and go on cute date nights. Jack Kelly was living his life again. Everything was okay. 

That’s what he imagined Crutchie telling him. 

“It’s okay now. Everythin’ is a-okay,” he’d say, with the smile that melts across his face like butter. “But you’s should probably apologize.” 

“For what?” 

“Always yellin’ at Davey when you’s weren’t feelin’ good.” 

Jack bit back a sarcastic response. It was already bad enough he was daydreaming about talking to his dead brother when he should be paying attention to his lecture. Dr. Smiley said it was normal. He missed Crutchie, it was only natural he’d want to talk to him again. 

Figment-of-his-imagination Charlie gave advice that was just as good as Charlie had when he was alive. Maybe apologizing wasn’t the worst idea in the world. 

It was just the execution that Jack managed to screw up. 


	13. A blood test

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok hi yes I am so sorry it's been so long since I last update
> 
> quick, unnecessary, break down to how my life has been going:  
> work  
> my best friend shipped out to boot camp - and my mental health went w him,,, I am so depressed w/o him  
> holidays  
> and I've been sick asl  
> finals
> 
> however!! now it's winter break so these updates should be a lot more consistent!!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy I cried a lot writing this and had to remove some very sad, triggering things so if it seems choppy, that's why :'))

The amount of shitty weeks Crutchie was being dealt far outweighed the number of good days he was having. Jack too for that matter. The stresses of junior year were finally over, all those SAT and ACT tests were long behind them. His crutches were hung up on his wall and Crutchie was cleared to play soccer again, but he didn’t see much of a point. 

Charlie still kept coming down with nasty bouts of the flu, large bruises all over his body, and overall exhaustion that would make it almost impossible for him to get out of bed in the morning. The doctors said it was just anxiety due to the coming change, college and the real world. 

So, they stopped going to the doctor every time he’d spike a fever. Why pay just to hear the same bullshit? 

That was until he got pneumonia for the third time that year, which was – when he thought about it – a lot of times to get it in a period of a few months. He didn’t blame Medda when she practically had a heart attack and dragged his ass to the hospital. 

“I’m coming with!” Jack was throwing a total bitch fit, as only Jack Kelly could. Kicking, screaming, and locking himself in the bathroom. Poor Medda was going grey in just the matter of a few hours. 

Like right now, with her rubbing at her eyes and sighing loudly. “Jack, you have to go to school,” she said. 

Crutchie sat at the kitchen table, stirring his cereal, and listening to the chaos go down. Every breathe he took came out in a wheeze. Pain itched at every inch of his skin. He was tired. So tired. It was overwhelming. 

Yet all he could think of was Jack. His brother. Bitching and moaning because he wanted to be by Charlie’s side. He pushed away from the table, not hungry anyway, to make his way upstairs. There was only one person who could talk some sense into Jack. 

Medda was leaning against the wall, rubbing at her eyes, and scowling. Having kids was never supposed to be easy. Upon seeing Crutchie, she gave a soft smile and stepped aside. This is why he was the favorite child, not that anyone would ever know. 

He rapped his knuckles against the door. “Cowboy, you’s got ta go ta school.” 

“No I’s don’t.” 

“Uh, yeah. I’s is pretty sure ya do.” 

“Nuh-uh.” 

“Uh huh!” 

“How come you’s don’t have ta, huh? You’s still got finals ya know.” 

Reasoning with him was like trying to get a two-year-old to lay down for a nap. Impossible. 

“Look, Jack.” Charlie jiggled the door handle. “Just let me in.” 

The door swung in slowly and Jack, still in his pajamas, peeked out through the crack. His hair stuck out in all directions, there was still crust in his eyes from a long sleep, and the scowl on his face was harsher than Charlie had imagined it to be. There would be no letting him down easy. Any reasoning that would be done is how fast it would take Medda to drag him out to her car. 

“Medda let you’s go last time I’s got pneumonia,” Crutchie said. “It’s just gonna be the same borin’ shit. Plus, if you’s grab my homework an’ shit then you’s has an excuse to come hang out with me an’ maybe we’s can convince her ta let you take

tomorrow off. It’ll be Friday an’ then you’s can have a three-day weekend. It’ll–”

Jack interrupted, per usual. “Hey Char?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Shut up, you’s lungs sound like a squeaky toy,” he said, and a grin spread across both of their faces. It wasn’t often Charlie could talk down the great Jack Kelly off the ledge, but, then again, he was the only one ever known to do it. 

So, Jack got ready and Crutchie finished a bowl of cereal that was more mush that cornflakes, despite their conversation lasting less than five minutes. And, while Jack was hoping into Katherines red convertible, he was slipping into the passenger seat of Medda’s tiny ass hybrid to go sit in the waiting room of a hospital for the billionth time this year. 

It wasn’t that he was scared of hospitals. Hell, Charlie loved the hospital. The nurses were unbelievably kind, even to a teenager, and the doctors seemed to genuinely care. Surface level it all seemed great. 

But Crutchie wasn’t an idiot. He knew how much hospital visits and his antibiotics and all those useless medical scans and procedures added up to. Medda’s insurance could only cover so much; the thought of her having to spend her own hard-earned money on him made his skin crawl. 

Sure, he was officially her kid. Jack was officially Charlie’s brother. They were all one big legal family. That is until Medda would get the insurance bill and see how much the youngest was costing her. She would look at all the money she’d worked her ass off to save, the business she created despite everyone telling her that it wasn’t worth it; she was just a foolish little black girl with no chance of anything go her way. 

Taking that away from her, shifting that to benefit him. Crutchie couldn’t live with himself. No matter how close to her it made him feel. No matter how much of a mother figure she was. He’d rather be sick than have Medda spend anymore money on him. 

Every dollar spent could mean one dollar closer to him being tossed out on his ass once more. 

“I would like to do a blood sample. Narrow the type of infection or disease Charlie here could have.” Those words had more weight than the doctor realized. A blood sample? Did he know how much that would cost? And if it came back that something was wrong? All the medicine that would fix him? 

By the time this was over Charlie would be back in foster care. 

The doctor folded his hands and placed them in his lap with a smile. He had a kind face. Kind eyes, warm deep pools of caramel. Kind of like Finch’s eyes, but his were tinted green. He trusted Finch; so, he decided to trust the doctor too. 

“What do you mean? Our pediatrician said Charlie just caught another case of pneumonia,” Medda said, her hand reaching over to grab for her sons. An anchor of sorts. 

Dr. Kind nodded, leaning forward, and creating a small tent with his hands like the doctors do in movies. Was he even a real doctor? “He does, but your pediatrician wouldn’t have sent him to see me unless it was mildly concerning. Three cases in one year indicates something more might be at play; Charlie might be at risk of developing an auto-immune disorder. The earlier was figure out what’s happening, the sooner we can create a treatment plan.” 

This was a new angle. A treatment plan. One of those programs to help you not be sick anymore. If, maybe, just maybe, there was something wrong and a treatment plan could fix it, then there would be no more doctor visits. There would be no more unnecessary spending on Charlie’s behalf. He could go back to being Medda’s baby and not her Make-A-Wish project. He could take a moment to breathe. 

“Let him do it, Ma,” Charlie said. “I’s just wanna stop gettin’ sick all the damn time.” 

Medda bit down on her lip. Charlie could already see the battle going on in her mind. They could, and probably should, wait until Jack got out of school to agree to the blood test and get the results. He would be mad, no pissed, if they did this without him. 

But Crutchie was tired of waiting. He needed to know. 

She nodded and softly patted Charlie’s hand. “Do the blood test. Just fix my baby.” 

One vial of blood and a few hours later the doctor was back, face grim. He didn’t look like Finch anymore. Charlie turned on his side, choosing instead to stare at the analog clock hanging on the wall. Just a couple more hours and Jack would be out of school. 

“Ma’am? Would you mind if we talked outside for a minute?” 

He listened as Medda made her way out of the room. A couple more hours and they would be laughing. All these bad thoughts would be just that, thoughts. 

The second hand on the clock ticked. Slowly. If the seconds kept feeling like days, then the minutes would be weeks and the hours would feel like days. Crutchie could, as much as he didn’t want to, wait days for Jack to get here. 

It would be worth it, all that waiting, to have Jack by his side. To laugh. To smile. To be distracted by his family from whatever the hell the doctor had diagnosed him with. 

Beside him, the bed sunk as his mother sat next to him. Crutchie stared at the second hand for a few more moments. Jack was going to be mad. They should wait for him. 

He turned to stare at Medda. She had tired eyes, sad eyes. They looked so different than the first day he had met her. 

“Honey.” Medda reached out and pushed a limp strand of hair from his sweaty forehead, tears glistened in her tired, sad eyes. It took her a minute to gather herself. Bad news. “Oh God, I don’t know how to tell you.” 

She opened her mouth a few times, closing it each time as the words escaped her. Crutchie didn’t do anything but watch. What more was there for him to do? Lie and tell her it would all be okay? 

“They think it’s a form of chronic leukemia called–”

A diagnosis like that should make the world fall out from beneath him. It was life altering, possibly life ending. He didn’t feel anything. No anger, confusion, sadness; nothing. Charlie felt absolutely nothing. 

“Stop,” he cut her off. “Shouldn’t we’s get a second opinion?” 

Medda pulled her hand away from his forehead, using it now to cover her mouth. Even so, he could still hear the rattling breath she took in a desperate attempt to calm herself. It didn’t stop the tears. They raced down her cheeks in a desperate attempt to escape the pain of her baby, the sweetest kid in the world, about to go through hell. 

Once she caught her breath, Medda uncovered her mouth and nodded; busying herself with smoothing out the sheets rather than the thought of her dying kid in front of her. “We will. We will, baby. They have to do a bone marrow biopsy, but the doctor- he, he’s almost positive.” 

So, it was cancer. How the hell was he going to tell Jack that it was cancer? 

Turns out he didn’t have to. By the time Jack had gotten to the hospital, Crutchie had been whisked away upstairs for a bone marrow biopsy, leaving Medda to deliver the news. The doctor gave him a room. He’d be staying for a while, for both the pneumonia and the cancer. 

It was late. Way past visiting hours, but Medda pulled some strings that would let Jack stay the night. A sleepover. They never had those anymore, not since he’d been getting infection after infection. Crutchie missed them. 

“I’s wanted ta tell ya.” 

Jack simply hummed in response. Always one to hold a grudge. 

“Seriously, Jack? I’s over here dyin’ an’ yer gonna act like that?” Charlie flinched as soon as the words left his lips. Harsh, too harsh given the way Jack catapulted out of the armchair across the room and took a few laps around the room to calm down. He didn’t leave the room though. Jack wasn’t about to leave his brother alone. 

“Really?” 

“What?” 

“Yer startin’ the guilt shit already, when we’s don’t even know how bad the cancer is? Jesus, Charlie I’s thought you’s was better than this,” Jack all but growled at his brother. “I’s has a right ta be angry too ya know.” 

Crutchie just rolled his eyes. Was it too selfish to ask for the dramatics to be reserved for the kid with leukemia? Jack had to hog the spotlight all the time. 

“What? You’s is gonna die an’ that’s it for ya. But that means you’s is leavin’ me behind an’ Spot an’ Racer an’ Finch an’ all the boys. What am I’s supposed ta do if we’s get the results and the cancer is bad? Just not think about how I’s is gonna lose my brother?” 

“What about me, Jack!? I’s is gonna be the one dyin’!” Charlie yelled at him, pure rage filtering through his veins. How dare Jack make his cancer about him? “If I’s die then boo-hoo Jackie gets pity points, but me? I’s ‘ill be dead! Gone! I’s ain’t even 18 yet.” 

“That’s a lot surroundin’ one hypothetical.” 

Jack and Charlie snapped there heads in the direction of the door. Spot stood there with Medda; she was openly crying now, perhaps because crying in a hospital was socially acceptable or maybe it was because she had heard their entire conversation and it was too soon to think about all this, and how the doctor had just pulled her aside to tell her that the cancer was bad. Very bad. 

“What? You’s bastards ain’t happy to see me?” Spot laughed, barely ducking the soft backhand Medda tried to give him for the swearing. She wasn’t really mad, Charlie could see the smile on her face. And what reason was there to not smile? Spot was here, all her boys were. It just happened that one of them had cancer. 

One of them had cancer. What a funny way to think. He’d known the news for less than a day and already Charlie was planning out his funeral. 

He didn’t want to die. 

He didn’t. 

He wanted to kiss someone and fall in love and get his heart broken and go skiing for the first time and go on a cross country road trip with his brothers and best friends and write a book and be a physical therapist and start a family and see Jack and Katherine get married. 

Crutchie didn’t want to die. Yet when Spot stepped across the threshold and sat down on the edge of his hospital bed, it was just one more visit checked off on the short list of times Charlie would get to see Spot before he died. 

And he didn’t even realize it. 

\-----

School was weird. You couldn’t keep a secret as big as cancer for secret very long. Charlie managed to keep it hush-hush for a little over a week, but kids kept asking why he would take two days off all the time. There were only so many excuses he could use. So, Crutchie decided to be upfront about his chemotherapy. 

Thought that just made kids weird. They all acted like he were already dead, and he absolutely fucking hated it. It was worse than the cancer itself, but not the worst part. 

The worst part about cancer – contrary to popular belief – wasn’t the chemo, though that was pretty terrible. Going to school a few days a week and balancing the way those toxins made him sick was hard enough. No, the worst part about the cancer was that he still got infections. 

Constant infections all the time. The doctors said they rarely see some get so many diseases within the walls of the hospital. Crutchie always had a thing for irony. English was his favorite subject, the only one he was currently passing with an A. 

Every other class was a high C. The constant infections gave him plenty of time to struggle through coursework he had never seen before, based off notes he had never taken, for tests he would hardly understand. The workload, the stress of it all, he just couldn’t take it. 

But then Jack would come stumbling into his room with Finch close behind and they would be talking about the pep rally and how close graduation is. There was no way Charlie could fall behind and risk another year of high school without his best friend, his brother, being alongside him. Sure, Race and Elmer and Specs would be there. But to not see Finch or Jack in the hallways would tear him up inside. 

So he powered through. Spending more all-nighters than he wanted studying and testing and doing everything in his power to boost his GPA. Crutchie was on track to graduate – news that never failed to plaster a shit-eating grin across Jack’s face. 

Even now, with the ceremony months away, Jack sat in a crappy hospital armchair next to Charlie’s equally as uncomfortable hospital bed. Everyone was there and loud. They were always very loud, but Charlie didn’t mind too much. He liked being around his friends. 

It just got weird whenever a nurse interrupted their conversations to check vitals or medication or whatever else Crutchie had just begun to ignore. They were always shocked into silence. The reminder that _cancer_ was also in the room. 

“I’m starvin’.” Elmer was the one to break the silence. They’d all watched three episodes of Family Feud without talking. Charlie wasn’t in the mood to talk. Or eat. 

Nothing tasted right. Everything tasted like metal. Sometimes he felt like he’d be better of just eating a handful of pennies. It all tasted even worse coming back up. 

In the time he’d been off Jack ruffled the hair on Charlie’s head. “We’ll be right back, Crutch. Promise.” 

He gave no response. Where else could he go? Every movement made him nauseous. Crutchie threw up every time a stood up, not that he even had any reason to anymore. The last thing he wanted to do was look in that bathroom mirror and see his face slowly sinking in on itself as clumps of his hair fell out day by day. 

“Char?” Jack paused, bending down a bit. “One of us can stay. I’ll stay, if you want.” 

“No, I’ll stay.” Finch settled back into his chair with a small, yet not unpleasant huff. “It’s been a while since we’ve got some one-on-one time, right Crutch?” 

For the first time in a few days Crutchie let his lips quirk up into a smile. Looking at the lanky boy folded in the crappy plastic hospital chair, even though the slightly more comfortable armchair was available a few feet away. 

Everyone shuffled out of the room, laughing and horsing around until only Finch and Charlie remained. It was quiet, as if they didn’t know how to act around one another. And they didn’t. This was the first time they’d been alone. 

Too bad they weren’t completely alone. The cancer was there, creeping in on the conversation about school and drama and all the fun stuff Crutchie was missing sitting here in that hospital bed. 

“Can you’s believe I’s is gonna to die without ever havin’ kissed someone?” Crutchie shifted in the bed with a sharp hiss. Moving was even too painful nowadays. “It’s fuckin’ pathetic. I’s is so fuckin’ pathetic.” 

Finch tilted his head, watching with curious eyes. “I can kiss you if you want.” 

What an odd idea, then again Finch had always been odd. In that sweet way where you couldn’t help but love him. Crutchie snorted. 

“I’m serious. I will.” 

“Don’t you’s got a girlfriend?” 

He shrugged. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Plus, I’ve been thinking about breaking up with her.” 

“Oh.” They’d always been cute together. A little unorthodox, but unbelievably affectionate and caring. Just the way they would look at one another sent hot flashes of jealousy through Crutchie, knowing he’d never have that. From anyone, especially not his best friend. “That’s not what I’s mean. I’s thought you’s is straight.” 

“Does it matter?” 

“No.” It didn’t, Charlie supposed, as long as he meant it. “It just won’t be the same if you’s kissin’ me outta pity.” 

Finch chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down his spine. It was rich, deep. How could Crutchie say no to that? “You don’t have to kiss me if you don’t want to.” 

“No!” He lurched forward, too quickly. He could feel bile rising in the back of his throat, but Crutchie swallowed despite his dry mouth. “I’s mean, I wanna kiss you’s.” 

The corner of Finch’s lips twitched. He was smiling, but Finch was always smiling. When his lip twitched like that, that was when you could tell he was happy. Charlie would know, he spent a lot of time staring at Finch’s lips. 

Not in the gay way. Nope. Not in the “I have a hopeless crush on my best friend and I’m just a kid who is struggling in more ways than just his sexuality” kind of way. Not in any kind of way. 

“Good. I want to kiss you too.” 

If Charlie hadn’t caught himself, he would have moaned. Just the words sent shivers throughout his entire being. Not to be dramatic or anything. Though, he supposed he had the right to be dramatic. He had cancer. He could be dying. No one knew anything. 

No, that was a lie. Someone knew something. He knew that he wanted to kiss Finch and Finch knew that he wanted to kiss Charlie. So, at least two people in the whole world had their heads on straight. 

He leaned closer towards him but stopped just short of Finch’s lips. He didn’t want to kiss someone, he wanted to be the one being kissed. Finch knew that, there was no way he didn’t know every thought that was going through Crutchie’s head in that moment, but Charlie still played it off. He just couldn’t let Finch think of him as weak. 

“I’s has no clue what I’s is doin’ here,” he chuckled. 

Finch moved, brushing the tips of his fingers along Charlie’s jaw, before capturing his lips with his own. It was his first kiss, so Charlie had nothing to compare it too, but it felt perfect. So perfect he was convinced that he had just met his soulmate. 

And just like that it was over. Finch had pulled away, leaving Crutchie with a dizzy longing. He wanted more. If kissing Finch were the last thing he ever did on this planet, then Charlie would die happy. He didn’t want a moment spent not having his lips pressed against Finch’s. 

“More,” he pleaded, and Finch obliged. 

In the midst of all the kissing, he forgot that he had cancer. Almost. 


	14. Davey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I have nothing to say for myself,,, other than I started this honors geography class and literally have the worst professor ever so all time I should have had to write for y'all has just been me crying over air temperature. 
> 
> I am so sorry, but here it is. There's like only 3 chapters left!! That's crazy, this is the longest fic I've ever done. Quite honestly this is the most I've ever written or stuck w something. So, hate to be this person but I need validation, let me know what you think of this fic, please. Leave comments!! I want to know if y'all would be interested in me writing the sequel to "Paper or Plastic?" ????
> 
> anyways, I hope you all enjoy :))))

A good apology was built upon three basic components. 

It all begins with the classic “I’m sorry,” alerting the listener that the individual does in fact feel regret over whatever it is that they may have said or done. Of course there were variations in the phrasing, but the message of remorse had to be genuine. 

This apology should be closely followed by an acknowledgement that they had messed up; this step could include an explanation for why what happened had happened, of course it would have to be well constructed and not just an excuse. Excuses were not apologies. 

Lastly, they had to include ways they would work on making sure this behavior didn’t repeat itself. It could be as simple as “I’ll do my best to. . .” 

Three easy steps. Simple to follow. Even the village idiot could be able to fake it. Race had been able to figure it out fast enough. Specs couldn’t even tell when Race was lying his way through an apology. 

Somehow, Jack had yet to figure out how to string together his own series of sentences to form a simple “sorry.” That much was obvious. 

Timing had never been his strong suit. Davey knew that was one thing Jack had always problems with. Neither was talking about his emotions, which was obvious when he burst into the bathroom as Davey was showering and ripped open the curtain. 

“We’s has ta talk.” He said, arms crossed and a scowl on his face. “Now.” 

If Davey were being honest with himself, then he’d have to say he was pretty proud of how he reacted to the sudden invade upon his privacy. He’d managed to choke down a scream, focusing his energy on tearing the shower curtain away from his offender and covering himself. 

“Seriously, Dave? I’s seen yer dick plenty o’ times.” 

It only then hit him that this wasn’t some psychopath who was here to murder him. No, this was his boyfriend with terrible timing. 

“Jesus Jackie, you gave me a heart attack.” Davey dragged a hand down his face. 

Jack snorted. “Yer Jewish. You’s don’t even believe in Jesus.” 

There was soap creeping down his face, dangerously close to stinging his eyes, and Davey swiped at his face again. The movement drew a growl from Jack, animalistic almost. As if the mere gesture were offending him. 

Crutchie whined in the bedroom. His low whine, the one before Jack would blow up. A warning. 

“What do you want Jack? I’m trying to take a shower here.” 

“We’s have ta talk.” 

“Yes, you’ve made that very clear. Can’t this wait? Water is getting everywhere.” 

Jack stared. At the water shooting past the lip of the tub and landing at his feet. And he did nothing. That’s all he ever did. Davey did most of the work, pushing him to try. School was on and off for Jack. Some days the grief would settle in again, anchoring Jack to his bed. 

This morning had been one of those days. He had tried. So hard. But Jack had not gotten out of bed. He’d ignored Davey’s pleas in favor of staring at the wall. 

It wasn’t just a wall. Davey knew that. He knew that, but he couldn’t help getting mad. It’d been close to two years since Charlie had passed. That had to have been enough time to heal. He knew people that had been able to get a handle on their grief in a little over a week. 

Why couldn’t Jack had been one of those people? Why? Was it unfair to want one normal week? Like how everything had been before? 

But he’d been getting better. It had all been going so well. The therapy, it was helping. Going back to school, Jack was motivated, most days. So why, why, was it all falling to shit again? 

“Oh so just ‘cause I’s ain’t bawlin’ my eyes out like some lil’ bitch you’s don’t got time ta talk ta me anymore, Dave?” There was venom in his voice. One that rarely came out anymore. It had been prominent for a while, before therapy, but now Jack would almost sink into himself rather than lash out at the world around him. 

Davey recoiled at the aggression. It was back to square one today. 

“Jackie, I promise you I will talk to you one I’m out of the shower.” He pulled the curtain shut, metal rings screaming against the rod, and sighed. “Just because I’m taking thirty minutes to myself doesn’t mean I don’t love you.” 

There was no response, just the click-clack of Crutchie’s paws on the tile floor and the jingle of his collar as Jack scratched behind his ear. That and the sound of water pelting down from the shower head and splattering against Davey’s in a rain of fire. 

Everything around him felt that same splat of fury, but it was only Davey that would burn. 

——

He took extra time in the shower after their argument. It was petty of him, but Davey got to be petty every once and a while. He’d already sacrificed so much. and jack deserved a taste of his own medicine. Right? 

If only Mouth, the biggest (if unintentional) smartass could be right. Just this one time. 

But he wasn’t. Jack didn’t deserve any more shit than what he had already been dealt. He didn’t deserve it from anyone, especially not from him. So, once more this quarrel was going to pan out like it had every single argument before this, with Davey swallowing his pride and apologizing. 

Only, when he went out into the bedroom that didn’t seem to be the case. Jack was sitting on the edge of the bed, petting Crutchie with such perturbation that it practically broke his heart. The love of his life was scared out of his mind and the tug in his gut was telling Davey that it wasn’t over their argument. This was so much bigger. 

Davey crossed the room to their closet, grabbing the closest pair of grey sweatpants - they were Jack’s, which meant they were floods. A small detail, but one that would fixate in his mind as he replayed this apology over and over again in his mind. The apology that would almost cripple their relationship and ruin all the hard work they’d put in, and all he would be able to remember is how he stood there looking like a buffoon with pants that only fit him to the middle of his shins. 

Jack cleared his throat. Davey slipped into the pants, groaning as he realized they didn’t fit right, but was respectful and gave Jack his full attention. He deserved that at the very least. 

The look on his face made his heart skip a beat, shallow breaths left his chest; Jack Kelly deserved so much more than the shitty hand he had been dealt. 

The sympathy didn’t last. Jack had a knack for ruining good things. 

“Look, Dave, I’s sorry for blowin’ up atcha. It’s just- I’s, um–” Jack scratched the back of his neck, skin flaming beneath his fingertips- “Well, I’s been meanin’ ta apologize ta ya for actin’ how I had been. You’s tried, tho’ not very well an’ I’s thinks that’s why it’s been takin’ so long for me’s ta get better. Ya know? 

“I’s know Charlie’s…” he stared at the floor for a moment. Two moments. 

Crutchie whined and nuzzled his nose into Jack’s palm. As soon as his fingers gently brushed Crutchie’s face, rage boiled in Davey’s stomach. He already knew where this was going 

“Charlie’s death was hard on all o’ us, but you’s weren’t all that close with ‘im so I’s, uh, understands why you’se didn’t care all that much. But I’s just kinda thought you’s were gonna be there for me even when I’s actin’ all shitty to ya. I’s mean maybe if we’s weren’t too busy hidin’ our relationship I’d’ve been able to see when he’s was gettin’ real sick that second time and stopped it all from happenin’, but, yeah, I’s sorry for being so rude an all.” 

It was so matter of fact. So declarative that, for a moment, it was as though it was true. That there was no doubt in the world that David Jacobs had killed Charlie Morris, all because he was too busy falling in love with Jack Kelly. 

But that was just a moment, and Davey didn’t dwell in moments because, sooner than later, reality would come crashing down. And it did. Hard. 

“You did not just say that to me.” A red-hot anger flashed through Davey. In what crazed alternate universe was that stuttering mess considered an apology? Where the hell did Jack get off blaming him for Charlie’s death and the events that followed there after? 

Jack gave him a blank stare. That stupid fucking stare. The one Davey had spent the past two years trying to figure out. Where Jack would slip away into his own mind doing God knows what. Did he even think? 

“You’s don’t forgive me?” Jack asked slowly, as if it didn’t fully register that his apology was shit. His attitude was shit. Shit, all of it. “After I’s spent the past two years grievin’ the death of my little brother, you’s don’t forgive me?” 

Davey sneered, barely able to contain himself. “You don’t get to fucking say that to me. Jack, I swear to god. You don’t get to put all this shit on my shoulders again!” 

Davey’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh? So, just because I didn’t know him as long as you, means that I am not allowed to miss him as much as you? I loved Charlie too, Jack. I loved him, Sarah loved him, and Les loved him. Les missed months of school because Charlie died! Does that mean nothing to you? Are you so caught up in your twisted web of anguish that you can’t for a second think of someone other than yourself?” 

Spit was flying of his lips, words of hate flying along with them; his hands were shaking, fists never quite fully forming as much as he might wish they would; ragged exhales tore through his lungs, he did not cry; even though hate-filled tears pricked his eyes, David Jacobs did not cry. He refused to break in front of Jack. 

“I loved him too, Jack.” 

“Oh, so now it’s my fault for not knowin’?” 

“You can’t be serious-” 

“‘Cause it seems to me like you’s only sayin’ it now ‘cause you’s knows I’s is winnin’ this fight.” Jack leaned back on the bed with a smug smile on his face. Crutchie hopped up onto the bed - something he wasn’t allowed to do, but Jack made no move to reprimand him. That job was Davey’s, it was always Davey’s job. 

Jack was manipulating, and he knew it, he was cocky. and he knew it, and it was making Davey feel like shit. 

“I’m tired of fighting Jack! I’m so tired all the time I’m starting to rip my own hair out!” He screamed. There was so much screaming, and Davey really hated to raise his voice. He just wanted it all to be over. Whether that means he stays with Jack or not. 

Only, he knew that would be an empty threat. If he didn’t have Jack - if he were to lose the one person in his life that made him want to get up in the morning. . . “Please, Jackie. I’m at my breaking point.” 

Crutchie nudged at Jack, letting out a low whine, and falling about as his lack of a leg meant the other three would just get tangled up in the sheets. The action made Davey’s chest hurt. It was like Charlie was still there. It was like when he had first met Davey and was in such a rush to comfort a crying Jack that he tripped over his own crutches. He missed Charlie, he missed him more than Jack would ever know. 

But Jack was stubborn. Stubborn and smarter than he let on. He knew Davey wouldn’t leave; he could barely even get the words out. There was a pounding in his ears. Blood rushing. Head dizzy. Was he really stuck? Would it take him carrying through on this empty threat to finally get through to Jack? 

Would he really have to hurt the one he loved most to figure this shit out? 

He didn’t want to find out, but Jack was looking at him with that fucking smirk and Davey was standing there looking like an idiot in pants that didn’t fit with a boyfriend that didn’t love him anymore. It was all too much. Too much. 

“For fucks sake, Jack!” He screeched, grabbing the nearest thing - a book - and flinging it across the room. It smacked against the wall with a heavy thud. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” 

Hands shaking, making fists, eyes darting around the room, his heart was racing. He could still feel the weight of the book in his hand. Was it already across the room? Was he aiming for Jack and just that bad of a throw? 

Crutchie was growling now. Good legs bent low, ready to pounce, but Jack scratched his head. He held him back. Davey deserved a chance to breakdown too, albeit a little too violent for both their tastes. Something like that had never happened before. 

Davey prided himself on being the calm one, the level-headed, responsible one of the group. He didn’t react by trying to beat it up like Sean would or burst into tears like Race had the tendency to do. He was diplomatic. 

“Dave?” Jack’s voice was soft, scared almost. Echoey like Charlie’s last words had been, though that might have been in his own head. Davey had been so nauseous listening to them. He was so nauseous, now. 

“Dave?” Jack asked once more, but it was too late. Davey had run into the bathroom, slammed the door behind him, and emptied his stomach into the toilet. 

\----

He stayed in the bathroom for the rest of the day. Occasionally, Jack would knock on the door. 

Always talking: “I called you off of work.” or “Are you hungry? I’ll order take out?” or “I texted Buttons to send you his notes.” 

The thought of school made Davey lean over and empty his stomach once more. He was so far behind, even more so than Jack because he hadn’t had the foresight to drop after Charlie’s death. He thought he could do it all. 

Now he was shaking on the floor of his bathroom, bile in his mouth, and tears down his cheeks. Crazy how cruel life could be. How cruel Jack could be. 

Somewhere between hours three and five of being in the bathroom, Davey got up and brushed his teeth, then unlocked the door. He made no move to leave. There was no way in hell he was leaving, crawling on his belly to Jack, and begging for forgiveness once more. 

No, this time was serious. Jack made some serious accusations. False accusations. He had wrongfully responded with violence, the tension in him snapped like a rubber band. For that he would apologize, but not for the words he had said. Those were truthful. 

Knock, knock, knock. Jack was back again. Something smelled delightful on the other side of that door, but Davey didn’t open it. He wasn’t going to open it. Jack had to come to him and apologize for real. 

“David?” He rapped on the door once more. “Can I come in? I got us Chinese.” 

Davey’s stomach growled, loud enough for Jack to hear it because he took that as an answer and swung the door open. His ass was numb from sitting on the floor for around six hours, but well worth it. Sometimes a six-hour breakdown was exactly what you need. 

“Remember when you’s would set timers for yer meltdowns back when we’s was at school together?” Jack asked, a nostalgic smile on his face. He plopped down across from Davey and began to pull takeout containers out of a white plastic bag with a smiley face on it. 

Davey didn’t feel like smiling. He felt. . . complicated. Thinking about how they used to be. 

“I wish I had the self-control for that now,” Davey let out a fake, breathy chuckle. Once more slipping on a mask. Maybe he did have some self-control left. Enough to where Jack was the only one with emotions now. 

“I’s got pot stickers. I’s knows they’s yer favorites.” 

As though that could make him forget the cruel things Jack had said. He kept his back pressed against the wall. Eyes trained up at the ceiling, at that weird stain he couldn’t for the life of him figure out how it got there. Jack would know. He knew everything about this house. 

Davey was a stranger in his life. Someone that couldn’t replace anything Jack had lost, no matter how much of himself he gave. 

“Look, Davey.” Jack settled down next to him, back flush against the wall. “I’s sorry about all the hurtful shit I’s said earlier. I’s was tryin’ ta apologize for somethin’ else, but I’s- I panicked an’ couldn’t do it. I dunno, I’s thought that if I’s were ta thank you for helpin’ me like you’s has been, then that would mean he’s really gone. 

“But I’s known he’s been gone. I’s known it for a while an’ it’s just hurt so bad, but you’s seemed like you’s were doin’ ok. It pissed me off, honest ta god. I’s got so mad thinkin’ about it that i’s forgot everythin’ I’s was gonna tell ya. It was wrong of me. I’s know youse guys loved Crutchie just as much as I did. He’s was the type of guy everyone could love.” 

By some stroke of miracle Jack had grown a head on his shoulders. For the first time in years Davey was hearing him form a decent argument. One about something that mattered. 

“I’s don’t wanna lose you too. Davey, yer my whole woild. I’s would’ve died these past two years if it wasn’t for ya. Seriously, don’t even look at me like that. I’s probably would’ve starved myself or offed myself or something if it wasn’t for you. Dave, I’s love ya so much. Yer my reason to get up in the mornin’ an’ I’s know it hasn’t seemed that way for a while but - “ 

Davey reached over to wipe a tear away from Jack’s cheek. They were soaked and there was a pang of jealousy rooting deep inside of him. It was unfair for Jack to be able to freely express his emotions like that. Davey longed for that freedom. 

But nothing was holding him back. 

“Thank you,” Jack whispered, composing himself. “When I’s was in bed for months on end. I dreamed of you. Only you. I’s could escape a world where Charlie was dead an’ live in one with you’s, only I’s forgot that I’s had one with you’s in it already an’ I’m so sorry. I’s should have treated you better. I’s promise that I’s will make up for it. 

“I’s ain’t never gonna blame you for my own shortcomin’s. Davey, you’s gotta believe me. I’m so sorry. . .” he dissolved into a mess of sobs, everything spewing out freely now. Not well-spoken at all, but they were all Jack’s worries all right. Through this blubbering Davey could make out a few sentences. It all boiled down to college building pressure. Jack was pulling C’s. Granted they were high C’s, but still C’s. 

“I’m tryin’ so hard, Dave.” He hiccuped and rubbed his nose, staring up at Davey with tear filled eyes. “I’s wanted ta do it all on my own so you’s ain’t disappointed in me no more.” 

Davey glared at him for a moment, angry thoughts still bouncing about in his head like little balls speeding through a pinball machine. Jack used to talk about pinball machines a lot, how Race would help Charlie cheat, so his score was always the highest. 

The wall of anger fractured. He didn’t understand Jack’s mind, not in the slightest. Davey didn’t know what it was like to lose the closest person to you, but he did know what it was like to watch everyone around him fall apart and expect him to put together all the pieces. 

He wrapped his arms around Jack, pressed a kiss to his temple, and smoothed down his hair. “I get it, Jackie. I’m stressed too, but you’re trying your best. That’s all I could ever ask from you. C’s get degrees, you’re going to graduate even if you have to have a few breakdowns to do it.” 

“That’s just the college life, huh?” A bubble of laugh escaped Jack, the sound bringing a smile to Davey’s lips. 

“Yeah, I guess so.” Davey said and ran his fingers through Jack’s hair. He could feel clumps of paint just at the nape of his neck. His grin grew even wider, this was his Jackie. Messy and imperfect, but his. He loved him wholeheartedly. 

“Ya wanna know somethin’ funny, Dave?” 

“Hmm?” 

“When I’s was grabbin’ yer card to pay for the takeout, I’s noticed yer license was expired. Has been for about a year now, but we’s ain’t never noticed ‘cause you’s drive too much like a grandma to get pulled over.” 

Davey paused for a beat, minding racing like always. His heart rate increased, and the palms of his hands got sweaty. Had he really been driving illegally all this time? 

“Hey, hey. Stop worryin’ so much. Mine ain’t expired, I’ll’s drive you’s everywhere you’s needs to go. It’ll be me makin’ up for being such a dick.” 

He smiled and pressed a kiss against Jack’s neck. “I forgive you.” 

A little white lie never hurt, plus it was closer to becoming a reality with each passing day. Davey loved him. He loved him and he would forgive him, eventually. 

\----

A month passed without a single fight, then two months. Jack was smiling again, seriously grinning from ear to ear - and not just for a few days before he relapsed. No, this change seemed permanent. Well, for now at least. 

They were able to put up pictures of Charlie in hallways and Jack could walk past without immediately heading to his room for weeks on end. Jack would finish his plate, then go back for seconds. Rarely did he slip into that pit of freaking out that everything was perfect. That was an improvement. 

When Jack, finally, graduated from community college, he didn’t shed a single tear. Even as Specs was bawling his eyes out as Finch gave a speech about how proud Crutchie would have been. Jack just sat back with a melancholic smile, because he knew everything Finch was saying was true. It would have been a perfect day, if Race had been able to come. 

That day was one for the books. The beginning of a new beginning, one of celebration and reminders of how much they all loved one another. Beginnings of new love. That after-party, which Jack had immersed himself so heavily into planning Davey was scared he had relapsed, was where Albert met Finch. 

The mere thought of those two made Davey’s heart melt. As much as it hurt to think Finch would never love Albert as much as he had loved Charlie, he never let it show. From the first moment they met, with Albert quite literally slamming a vase into his head, to the dozens of bouquets Finch would surprise him with, Davey knew that they were practically soulmates. 

They were also in the beginnings of understanding. Sean wasn’t the same. He would sit by his boyfriend, staring straight ahead with a blank look on his face, and constantly tugging his collar up to hide a mark on his neck. Convincing him to even show up had been a struggle on Davey’s end. Sure, they had their differences, but when it came to Jack, they rarely butt heads. 

Yet, Sean was nervous in explaining over and over that he wasn’t able to come. The fact that he and Jack hadn’t even talked to one another in months didn’t seem to bug him, the only thing bugging him was that Davey had the audacity to call and invite him to his brothers graduation. It wasn’t until he reached out to Tommy Boy, and explained Spot’s odd behavior, that the couple agreed to come. 

Jack hadn’t been able to catch Spot alone. Tommy Boy would dominate every conversation, never let Spot leave his side, and would jab him in the side to sit straighter every five minutes. If Davey, someone who did not hold Sean in the highest regard, was noticing this, then there was no way in hell Jack wasn’t. Even if he might be dumber than a bag of rocks on some days. 

They would figure that out. Davey need not get involved. He had his own beginnings to deal with, less hopeful ones. Beginnings of sleepless nights and anxiety attacks over the smallest of occurrences. Beginnings of fear. 

Jack and he would figure that out, they had to. They’d survived this much. They had to. Right? 

**Author's Note:**

> As always comments/kudos are appreciated! Constructive criticism helps me improve as a writer and is always welcome. Thank you for reading!! :)


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